


Falling for the Wrong One

by Yenneferrrr



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yenneferrrr/pseuds/Yenneferrrr
Summary: They were kinda, sorta friends... at least... she hoped.
Relationships: Gil Grissom/Catherine Willows
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	1. Hypnotized

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! I've been dragged back into the fandom, it seems. It's my take on how Gil and Catherine met back in the early days. I've always had a hard time writing Grissom's character, so hopefully this does it justice! Sorry for any grammar mistakes! I'm not sure how many chapters it'll be yet, but let's just go along for the ride together! (Anyone who wants to collaborate on this with me, you have my WANTED PERMISSION lol)

It had taken a lot of convincing, but he was finally here. Stepping off the plane, he can already feel the sweltering heat seeping through the metal jetway. Growing up in California, he could honestly say now that he was back west, that he’d never miss the heat again. Minneapolis weather had been damn near perfect, with the exception of snow, which had taken him some time to get used to. But he was here now, in Las Vegas, and for what seemed to be the long haul. 

He claims his baggage, checks his watch, and rents a car that’ll take him to his new home; a modest condo on the outskirts of the city, close enough to make a quick trip to the lab but away from the noise. There’s not much he had packed up and brought back from Minneapolis; a mattress, a few pieces of cookware, a handful of personal items, and his bug collection. His wardrobe had fit in all three suitcases he owned. The rest, he decided, could be sold.

Technically, he doesn’t start his new job for another week. But it proves to be ample enough time to situate his life before he lets the work take over it. He buys the necessities, but nothing more; sheets, a few pieces of furniture to be delivered by the end of the week, food, toiletries, and to his distaste, a car. 

So when the day finally comes, his first day at the Las Vegas Crime Lab as a Level III CSI, it rains. And hard. A welcoming present from the city that welcomed no one. He navigates through the downpour, until he’s pulling into parking lot designated for employees like him. It takes him no time at all to find a spot, which worries him, makes him think he’s parked somewhere he’s not supposed to be. 

He’s dry, not a raindrop on him, which wasn’t a good foot to start off on, it seems. As the rest of the shift pours in, the lab techs, the lower level investigators, he notices how their clothing clings to them as if they had just walked five miles in the rainstorm. He’s decided to steer clear of the locker room for the time being. 

When he’s sure that everyone has clocked-in or clocked-off, he carefully makes his way back, to grow accustomed to his new locker room. He spots a vacant locker, pulls it open. He’s startled by the sudden thud of a heavy duffle bag onto the bench behind him, and turns his head to find another drenched employee. 

She’s cussing under her breath as she rakes through the contents of her bag, and blowing a few pieces of wet bangs from over her eyes, she sees him in front of the empty locker. Her eyes pass over him; a bit older than her, dark, somewhat curly hair, tanned skin, blue eyes, and completely dry.

“You must be Gil Grissom,” she says finally, her tongue coming out to sweep across her bottom lip, tasting the Nevada rain. He’s taken aback for a moment, fully expecting to be a ghost here, as well. It was easier that way; in high school, in college, in his career; to be present, but unseen. 

“How do you know,” he challenges her, in that cool and calm voice of his, hoping she’ll play into his beloved profiling game. She takes a moment to form her words, and he can’t help the small smirk that falls into place on his lips.

“Well, for starters… you’re standing in front of an empty locker.” He crosses his arms over his chest, effectively hiding his badge now. “I’ve been here a little over a year and not once have I seen you in this building.” His head tilts to the side. “And you’re as dry as the Nevada desert, meaning you get to park where people like us don’t.” He was quick to pick up on her hint, ‘people like us’. She wasn’t a CSI. “So you’re new. And the only memo we’ve gotten is about some guy and his bugs joining us from Minneapolis.”

He’s surprised that she even knows what ‘entomology’ is, but decides against pissing off the only person willing to talk to him thus far. His silence is all the confirmation she needs, and she nods her head. Finally, she finds the white lab coat, and her badge. 

“I’m Catherine,” she says, holding out her hand for him to shake. He accepts, taking her smaller, pale hand into his own larger, tanned one. And even drenched from head to toe, she’s warm to the touch. “Your lab technician and blood splatter consultant,” she introduces herself, and quickly lets her head fall to the side, as if rethinking her introduction. “Well, not your official blood splatter consultant. Ecklie hasn’t given me official reign of that title, but just know I’m damn good at it,” she says with a smile, the first smile he’s seen since moving to the city. 

“Catherine,” he says, testing her name on his lips. Slowly, he lets her hand go. She flips her strawberry blonde hair from lab coat, and nods, sets her bag into her locker and moves towards the exit.

“See you around, bug man.” 

Had he… had he heard her right? Bug man? 

He laughed.

–

His first shift proves to be somewhat of an adjustment. New regulations, new processing procedures, new people; but he catches on quickly. And by the time the shift comes to an end, he can hear his team, a team he’s not yet been accepted into, conjugating near the locker room. They’re deciding on dinner and drinks, and figuring out carpools. He’s leaning against the door to his office, also bare and void of any personality, much like his apartment across town. 

He watches as she tucks her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, telling her cohorts to go off without her, that she’ll meet them at their destination in a few minutes… that there was something she had to take care of first. It’s an innocent enough request, one that doesn’t raise too much suspicion, so they leave without her. 

And when they’ve left, she turns to face him, watching him… watching her. She walks slowly, confidently, towards him. And when she’s within reach, starts speaking. 

“So you survived your first day.”

“There’s still the ride home,” he says with a hint of a smile. 

“In any case… it’s over, and I’m glad we haven’t run you out of here yet.”

“It’ll take a lot more than the cold shoulder to force me out of his place,” he assures her. She studies him, eyes scanning his face. He seems… sweet, in his own way, she decides. Though her coworkers haven’t yet formed an opinion on him, she decides that she likes him. 

“At the risk of being insubordinate, a couple of us are going to get dinner and drinks.” She can already tell that he’s uninterested. “Good way to get to know your team,” she tries to persuade. But he politely declines. And she’s somewhat disappointed, but refuses to let it show. “Alright, then.” He watches as she tightens her raincoat around her small waist. Eight hours later, and the rain had come back with a vengeance. “Stay dry,” she calls out with a trace of sarcasm. 

And the guilt floods in. She was just trying to get him to open up, not fully aware that most socialization was his downfall. She was the complete opposite of what he would ever consider a friend, though. Back in college, his close group of entomology classmates were all he needed. They were socially awkward like him, kept to themselves like him, save for the “nerd fest” that would take place in either of their dorms when the Entomology Society of America put out a new journal. He was content with not having many friends, not having many personal or intimate relationships. 

But he wanted to change. He didn’t want to be that lonely anymore. 

“Catherine,” he calls out, stopping her down the hallway. She turns on her heels, her hair fanning around her as she does so. He see’s the surprised expression on her face. At that, he locks up his office, and takes calculated steps towards her. She’s standing her ground, and unbeknownst to him, she’ll be the one. To change everything. “I’ll take you to where people like me get to park,” he says, fishing his keys out from his pocket.

Her tongue comes out to sweep over her bottom lip, and he swears she does that on purpose. He’s only human, and drawn to it every time she does it. And with it, another human reaction, a tightness in his chest. There’s no denying she’s attractive, but in his experience, people like her weren’t interested in people like him. 

She follows him wordlessly to the covered parking area of the employees, wrapping her coat around her once again when the mist of heavy rain graces them. He leads her to his car, dry and untouched, unlocks it and opens the passenger door for her. 

“A gentleman,” she says, taking a seat and allowing him to close the door for her. And during the time it takes him to round the front of the car and open his own door, she’s inspected the interior. Clean, organized. No personal touches. Just a laminated parking pass that hangs from the rearview mirror and the distinct smell of after-shave. 

When he starts the engine, the music he had been listening to earlier that morning fills the car. He lowers the volume, but she recognizes the song. 

_“They say there’s a place down in Mexico. Where a man can fly over mountains and hills, and he don’t need an airplane or some kind of engine. And he never will.”_

“ _Mystery to Me_ ,” she says, pointing to the radio. He looks at her quizzically, before he realizes she’s talking about the music. “That was a good album.”

“One of their better ones, in my opinion.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. _Tusk_ is, and will always, be my favorite. Sisters of the Moon, now that’s a song I can get behind.” 

He wonders, if it’s always been this easy to get along with people, and if he’s purposely denied himself this for years. He finds himself smiling, more and more, and in correlation with her presence. He takes note. 

“Believe it or not, they were still good before Stevie Nicks came along,” he argues playfully, putting the car in reverse and backing out of his spot. “Where are you,” he asks, referring to her car. 

“Across the street,” she answers, readjusting herself in his front seat to get a better look at him. When they leave the safety of the parking tower, the rain comes down full force against the windshield. He’s forced to turn on the wipers. He navigates them safely across the street, and she points out her car, in the middle of a now empty lot. He throws the car in park. 

She doesn’t make a move to exit his car, and he doesn’t ask her why.

“So Minneapolis, huh,” she says, her hands in her lap. He nods. “What brings you here? Besides the job and all.” It’s a question he’s not asked much; even when he had moved from California to Minneapolis for his PhD. 

“Well… I’m closer to home, which is nice, I suppose.”

“And where’s that,” she’s quick to follow.

“Santa Monica.”

“Ah. A California boy.” He nods. “Why’d you leave?”

“For my Doctorate in Biology at Chicago.” The rain is still unrelenting, and she dreads getting out of the comfort of his car. She knows her coworkers are waiting for her, have been for a while, but it wouldn’t surprise them if she never caught up to them. “Is it my turn yet,” he asks, referring to her game of twenty questions. It’s her turn to nod. “You don’t want to be a lab technician forever.” It’s not a question, more of a statement, and she nods her head again.

“I’m in my last semester at West Las Vegas. I’ll graduate in Medical Science. My plan is to move up to a level I CSI, hopefully,” she says, slightly embarrassed. Here she sat, possibly with the smartest man in all of Las Vegas, complete with a PhD, and she barely had her associate’s degree.

It’s September, so he does the math and realizes he’s only got her for maybe another three or four months before she’ll be able to join the ranks, and he’ll lose her to another team. 

“It’ll be here before you know it,” he offers. She smiles.

“Just remember us little people,” she says, softly. “Thanks for this,” she motions to the inside of the car they both sit in, dry and safe from the rain. 

“Anytime.” He surprises himself with even how sincerely he sounds. He doesn’t do this; he doesn’t make friends on his first day… anywhere, and a pretty one, at that. “See you tomorrow,” he says just above the rain, watching as she braces herself for the pelter outside. She’s gone before he knows it, and he swallows a lump in his throat.


	2. Head Over Heels

She sees him in passing throughout the lab, but never really gets to talk to him for another month. It’s the end of October by now, and it’s as if the crime has been non-stop in the city. He only barely remembers his lunch, packed away in the break room refrigerator, and decides to take a break on his current paperwork before he goes cross-eyed.

He’s sure everyone else has eaten at this point, so late in the day, which is why he’s surprised to see her there, sitting at the table with her own lunch in front of her. 

She looks up in time to see him coming through the door, a spaghetti noodle hanging from her perfect lips. 

“Time gets the best of everyone, so it seems.” She watches as he quickly removes his food, heats it in the microwave. When the timer goes off, he pulls the steaming plastic container from the microwave and makes for a swift exit. “I don’t bite. I’m not like your four-legged friends,” she calls out, stopping him in his tracks. He turns. “Sit,” she says, nodding towards the chair in front of her. Bold move for her to speak to her supervisor like that, but she figured no one else ever had… and that he wouldn’t know what to do about it, anyway. They were kinda, sorta friends… at least… she hoped.

He sits. Across from her at the glass table. She peeks at his left-overs. Whatever it is, it looks delicious. And smells it, too.

“You cook that yourself,” she asks, a mouth full of spaghetti as she points to his lunch. He’s fighting with the packaging of the silverware, courtesy of the crime lab. 

“I’m not completely inept.” The chicken marsala is complete with sauteed mushrooms, wine sauce, and over a bed of rice. He stirs the contents of the container around, and when he looks up, smirks at her fixed stare. “Would you like to try some,” he offers, holding out his leftovers for her. The blush that takes over her chest doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Oh, no- I-”

“Please. I insist.” He offers up his untouched fork, and she reluctantly grabs a full bite of everything on the plate; rice, chicken, sauce, mushrooms. “Another opinion is always welcome.” She brings the fork to her mouth, savors the taste of the home cooked meal, and nearly moans. This was so much better than anything she had ever cooked. “Thoughts?”

“I don’t believe you cooked that yourself, firstly,” she says, after thoughtfully chewing the food. She hands the plastic fork back to him, fully expecting him to throw it away and grab a new one, but instead… he takes a bite for himself. “Secondly, you’ll be packing my lunch from now on,” she says playfully. 

“If you’d like. I tend to have more leftovers than I need,” he says seriously, and she gapes at him. Before she can say anything, though, her pager goes off.

“Ah, I’ve gotta get back.” She shoves whatever food she can into her mouth, as gracefully as possible, and cleans up her mess. “Give me the recipe,” she says as she leaves the room, pointing to his leftovers. He smiles, shakes his head, and finishes his lunch in silence. 

And when Halloween comes along, they become busier than ever. She bounces back between the photo lab and evidence logging, barely showing her face around the lab. But as always, there’s a break and everyone agrees that it couldn’t have come a moment sooner. For once in a long time, the cases are solved, the murders are behind bars, and they’re free to spend their Halloween to themselves. Some of the other lab technicians are going to a costume party, the older investigators who have a family are rushing home to see their children trick-or-treat, and they… they have no where to go, and no one else to be with.

She roams the hallways, nodding a welcome to the graveyard shift as they mumble under their breaths about what a night it’ll be. 

Rounding a corner, his office comes into view. His door it open, it’s always open, and he sits behind his desk, head stuck in paperwork. He’s only been here a little over a month, and still hasn’t quite found his place among his team. It takes everything in her to keep her mouth shut when the lower level CSIs come into her lab, hounding her for results; talking about him while they wait.

__

“I still don’t know why they didn’t just promote you to his position,” Adam, a hot-shot transfer from Reno, says. He’s talking to another CSI, a level II, named Michael.

“Beats me. Brass says he’s got the experience and the credentials. It’s no skin off my ass. He’ll trip sooner or later.”

“He’s just so… weird.”

She could feel herself growing irritated with their presence, and with their topic of conversation. That was the problem with people around here; why the crime lab could never keep anyone worth keeping, because of pretentious assholes like this. 

So she turns sharply, and holds the manila folder of lab results up to Adam. But before he can grasp them firmly, she lets them fall to the table. 

“Oops,” she says, eyes locked dead on the older man. “I’ve been so clumsy today. How… weird.” Men like him have never intimated her, and they never would. 

It had only happened a day or so after her encounter with Gil, one that left her to believe he wasn’t as ‘weird’ as everyone else had made him seem to be. He was quiet, he worked hard, he stayed out of workplace drama- he was just himself. And since then, she had a new found protectiveness over him. Call it guilt, call it remorse, call it what you wanted, but she drawn to him now, and she knew that if her coworkers became aware, they’d never let her live it down… but fuck them.

She knocks softly on the frame of his door, his head popping up suddenly. He relaxes when he sees it’s her. 

“Hey,” he says, his voice welcoming her in. She takes a few steps, looks around, taking her time to observe the new additions he’s added for personal touch. There are things propped up on shelves that look like they’ve come straight out of a sci-fi movie, exoskeletons of bugs long passed, and framed butterflies. He watches her admire the collection of colorful insects, and smiles. “Pretty, aren’t they?”

“I guess they’re not so bad,” she says finally, turning to lean against an empty shelf. Her eyes pass over the stacks of crime scene photos and witness reports. “I thought you guys closed that earlier this morning?” 

“We did,” he confirms. “Just going over the last of it.”

“And that can’t wait until the morning?” He tilts his head at her, slowly removing his glasses and placing them down on top of the photographs. It’s Friday, and tomorrow would be the first Saturday he’s had off in a while.

“I suppose,” he says after a while, leaning back in his chair and pushing himself away from the desk slightly. There’s a comfortable silence between them, and as she looks over him, Adam and Michael’s words replay in her head. 

“Come on,” she says finally, motioning for him to get up from his chair. “We’re going get dinner,” she announces, and it’s not a question, leaving him not much room to turn her down. But she’s surprised when he doesn’t try. 

One of the nightshift lab techs, a friend of Catherine’s, looks up from her microscope in time to see them leaving the office together, and smirks.

“You’re driving,” she says, looking sideways for his reaction. He just purses his lips, shakes his head, and grins. It makes her smile. 

They end up at a place downtown; a hole in the wall, a place free of tourists and outsiders. It’s got good food, but better drinks, and that’s exactly how she describes it to him before they get out of his car, and grab a table. There’s a small corridor lined with string lights that opens up to the back of the building, revealing an intimate area with a few tables. 

The heat has died down significantly, and as they sit, she fights the wind chill that passes. Wordlessly, he stands, sheds his jacket, and drapes it over her shoulders. She had been rubbing her arms, checking her skin for goosebumps, when he does it. Her head shoots up, and in the dim light, he smiles at her.

“Thanks,” she says softly, over the sound of a Tears for Fears song. He nods, sits down, and relaxes back into his seat.

“What here is good,” he asks, eyes scanning the menu from where he sits. She suggests the homemade burger, complete with a fried egg, and the onion rings. And when the young waitress comes out, it’s what she orders… and he seconds it. Complete with Screwdrivers. 

A new song echoes down from the speakers, and she taps her foot along time with the music. 

__

“I can’t imagine why you say the things you do. Maybe in time I’ll understand.”

She smirks, refusing to break eye contact with him. Fitting, she thinks. 

Their drinks are presented first, and his eyebrows arch at how much alcohol he can taste through the bitterness of the orange juice.

“This is straight vodka,” he says, watching her lips curl up into a smile. A beautiful one, at that.

“Told you their drinks were better,” she says, before taking her own sip. 

“You come here often,” he asks, setting his drink onto the table. There it is, she thinks. There’s the socialization coming out, and who knew all it would take was a little bit of vodka.

“I used to,” she answers honestly. There hadn’t been much reason to come, enveloped by work and school. “You know how it is. Classes start back up, everyone kind of… filters out,” she says, but then realizes that maybe he doesn’t know how it is. “Kind of pathetic to come here alone.” Foot in mouth, again, she thinks. He chuckles to himself at her words, finding comedy in them, reminding him exactly how different they were. “That’s… not what I meant. I’m sor-” He holds up a hand to silence her.

“It’s okay.” Even still, she looks worried.

“Why are you laughing,” she asks, dreading his answer. She had finally gotten him to come out of his shell, and now he was going to retreat back.

“I’m just… we’re different, you and I.” He says, pointing between them. 

“Is that a bad thing?” 

“No, no,” he’s quick to dismiss her worry, shaking his head as he answers her. It seems to relieve her a bit. “I like it, is all,” he says finally. 

Their food doesn’t take long, and between bites and sips of alcohol, they talk. About what, he doesn’t really care. But it’s easy… and it comes without force. He’s learned that she’s approximately three years his younger, at 27 years old. What she doesn’t tell him, though, is that she has one last shift at the Palace. That although she’s almost done with school, there had to be a way to pay for school. She would tell him, she promises herself, but not now… not yet.

“Another round,” she asks, finishing up the last of her drink. Their empty plates had been cleared away nearly half an hour ago, and they contently sit there. He nods at her suggestion, watching as she brings up her feet to tuck underneath her legs in the chair. “Good. I’m not quite ready to go home yet,” she says, cheeks flushed with the effects of alcohol. 

“Me either,” he says boldly, sure of himself that she hasn’t heard him.

“If you keep coming out with me like this, people back at the lab are going to think we’re friends,” she says into her new glass of orange juice and vodka.

“Worse things could happen,” he shrugs, catching the way she smiles into the glass. 

Another hour passes before their drinks run dry, and when it’s time to call it a night, he offers her a hand to help her out of her seat. His skin is hot to the touch, and she misses the contact the second his hand slips from hers. He doesn’t ask where she lives, doesn’t want to send her the wrong message, so instead… brings her back to her car. But only after ensuring she was sober to drive.

“I’m fine,” she promises as he opens her door, helping her out of the front seat. She closes the door and leans against it, arms crossed over her chest. He’s standing in front of her, taking note at how the city lights cast a glow against her skin. Her eyes are nearly sparkling. “Did you have fun,” she asks confidently, as if she already knows the answer.

“I did,” is his reply, his hands in his trouser pockets. 

She’s still wearing his jacket, a dark gray, twill collared jacket that’s sizes too big for her. 

He doesn’t ask for it back.

“I um… I just wanted to say,” she starts slowly, nodding as if it’ll help her to get the words out. “I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re here.” He looks down at her, in such awe, that it makes her feel as if a follow-up is needed. “I know that not everyone here can be… welcoming, but… we need you.”

She swallows, wondering if she’s crossed a line. She was a lab tech, for crying out loud. If anyone was going to give him the encouragement, it should’ve been Jim Brass, or hell… even Adam or Michael.

But it means that much more to him that it’s coming from her. 

“Thank you,” is all he can muster up. She nods, licking her lips nervously, and he reluctantly moves to the side, allowing her to enter her car. He can’t quite make himself turn around to watch her start the car, but the sound of her rolling down her window makes him crane his neck.

“Hey,” she calls out. “Enjoy your day off tomorrow.” He nods once, and finally turns to face her.

“Goodnight, Catherine.”


	3. Storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read and leave kudos! You are my motivation! I'm not going to lie, I'm kind of in love with this story. I hope more people are enjoying it! Sorry for any grammar mistakes!

Thanksgiving is in a few days, she realizes herself, when she sees the taped-up paper on the fridge in the breakroom. It’s got everyone listed who’s scheduled to work that day, and next to the names are individual’s handwriting- claiming a dish to bring for the day, a makeshift Thanksgiving dinner of sorts.

They’d done this for the Fourth of July, and Easter, as well. And it had actually been nice.

So as she scans the list, she sees her name, and claims something easy; something she can pick up at the local grocery store. A dessert. Perfect. But as her eyes scan the rest of the list, she notices there’s one person missing, not to her surprise. Gil.

And when the day comes, she’s the first person to place her contribution on the table. She had taken them out of the clear plastic container, placed them about a decorative plate her mother had given her long ago, and wrapped them in clear cellophane. More people start to shuffle in, placing their own things on the table, and she slips away to get to the lab. 

She’s got her headphones in, trying to piece together a file for Adam, when a photograph of blood splatter is suddenly all she can see. She’s about to fire off some sarcastic remark, fully believing it’s Adam or Michael trying to piss her off, so when she rips her earbuds out and looks up, she bites her tongue.

Grissom stands in front of her, an exicted smile on his face.

“What do you see,” is how he greets her. 

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she says flatly, making his smile widen. He’ll play along after, she realizes, hellbent on getting her opinion of the photograph. So she picks it up, studies it… and drops it back onto the table in front of her. “A low velocity impact. The size of the droplets are roughly four… to six millimeters. Consistent with some type of blunt force trauma.” 

Blood splatter had never been more attractive to him.

She looks up at him, and it had been all the confirmation he needed. 

“How’d I do?”

“You do know your splatter,” he confirms, tucking the photograph away. “I’ve got more of these, you know.”

“Ooooh, don’t tempt me.”

And then he’s gone. Just like that.

Hours later, when her stomach starts to protest, she gives in and heads for the breakroom. She doesn’t hesitate to grab not one, but two plates, which she fills with an assortment of food; sliced turkey, broccoli and cheese casserole, green beans, sweet potato mash, dinner rolls, banana pudding, and a brownie, to top it off. 

It’s late in the afternoon, and as she carries both plates of food down the hall, she feels the gazes of her coworkers follow her. As always, he’s hidden away in his office, but looks up in time to see her with the two plates of food.

“Thanksgiving dinner,” she says, handing him one of the plates. He accepts it carefully, and the silverware she’s taken with her. She takes a seat across from him, stabbing a piece of smoked turkey with her fork.

“Did you know that the average consumption of calories on Thanksgiving day is around 4,500? Or that turkey wasn’t served during the first feast? That it was most likely venison… or duck?”

“Duck,” she asks, a mouth full of turkey, her face twisted in disgust at the thought. He grins, nods, and pops a green bean into his mouth. 

\--

It’s early December. 

She drags herself through the lab, the late nights of studying for finals and working long hours finally starting to take it’s toll on her. ‘Only a few weeks left,’ she’d tell herself, motivating her to get through another shift. But instead of going home to study, she’d resorted to claiming a spot in the breakroom, taking up the couch to display her notes and books. 

Someone had stumbled upon her, bags under her eyes and running on caffeine, when they asked her: 

“What’s wrong with your apartment?”

To which she had replied:

“Kind of hard to concentrate when there’s a raging party next door.”

And the library? Walking to her car in the middle of the dimly lit parking lot? Pass. 

But she’s pleasantly surprised when it’s Gil that walks in on her, in the early hours of the morning before their shifts are supposed to start. He’s got his briefcase in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. 

“Catherine?” He ducks his head to get a better look at her, and double checks the time on his watch to make sure he’s not delusional. She’s aware of how ridiculous she must look; notes scattered about the place, a pencil stuck behind her ear, dark circles under her blue eyes, her hair on it’s second round of dry-shampoo. “What… are you doing?”

“They don’t call it ‘hell week’ for nothing,” she mutters, pulling the pencil from behind her ear and letting it fall to the couch. Her back aches, her legs have lost all feeling, and she can feel the beginning of a migraine coming. Rubbing at her eyes, she looks up at him. “What time is it?”

“Five thirty-two,” he says without missing a beat.

“Oh, God,” she groans, running her hands over her face. She’s got approximately forty-eight hours until her first of three finals, but her brain feels like mush, and she can’t seem to keep her eyes open. “I lost track of time, I guess.” He stands there, uncertainty written all over his face. She lets out a huff of air. “My neighbors at my apartment complex don’t understand the concept of ‘quiet time’ and I’ve seen too many cases where the girl goes missing in an empty parking lot. I’d rather have the people at work look at me like I’m crazy than be murdered.” 

He stands still for a moment, scanning the scene before him, before he digs into his pockets, pulling out a small set of keys. 

She looks up through tired eyes at the sound. 

It takes her a while, but realizes that he’s removing a single key from the metal ring. 

“I have a spare bedroom. It’s not much, but it’s got a desk… and it’s quiet.” He extends the key towards her, but she shakes her head.

“I couldn’t. It’s fine,” she rationalizes, looking back at her small space on the worn leather couch. “I’m fine,” she reiterates. “Thank you, though.”

“Catherine,” he says her name, so softly, that she lets her head fall in defeat. “It’s no trouble. I insist.”

She accepts the spare key reluctantly, and their fingers brush slightly, and she tries to ignore the quick tingle that shoots down her spine. 

“Thank you,” she says softly, her voice on the verge of breaking. It was such a Grissom move, she thinks. That although he’s only known her the span of a few short months, he’d trust her enough with a very intimate, personal thing; his living arrangements. And he expected nothing in return. 

She packs up her things, stops by his office to scribble down his address, and thanks him one last time. He says nothing, but nods silently, and watches her leave… checking his watch once she’s out of sight to calculate how much of his shift is left.

She heads back to her apartment first. It’s almost six-thirty in the morning by the time her neighbor, Christopher, turns the stereo off. She had to sleep, to take a nap at least, and then she would head to Gil’s. She passes out on top of her bed before she can set her alarm clock.

**_BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._ **

Loud, rhythmic bass shakes the walls, jolts her from a dead sleep. Her neck is sore from falling asleep in her current position, and the pillowcase beneath her is damp with drool. When her eyes adjust to the afternoon sunlight pouring from the blinds, she forces herself up. She’s nauseous from the hard sleep, and on shaky legs, drags herself to the sink for a glass of water.

Catching a glimpse at herself in the window above her sink, she grimaces.

A shower was needed.

She towel dries off, brushes her hair, and slips into clean clothes; a pair of gray drawstring joggers, a black crop tank top, and white socks. Her hair has since dried, and curled into natural waves. She forgoes the makeup, and pulls on her shoes. She grabs her things, and nearly heads out of the door until the coldness seeping under the heavy wood reminds her of how cold it is outside.

Her eyes fall on a certain gray twill jacket slung over her chair.

–

She looks up from the piece of paper, double checking that she’s at the right building. It’s a bit modern looking, and ten times nicer than hers. Slowly, she grabs her bookbag, slings it over her shoulder, and locks up her car. The new addition on her keychain rattles against the other keys, until she’s got it between her thumb and pointer finger, poised to unlock his condo.

Her nerves take over, and her heart beats a little faster. Unsure of where the anxiety was coming from, she shakes her head, and unlocks the door. She lets out a breath when the door swings open, revealing a somewhat empty condo.

Flicking on the living room light that’s immediately to her left, she gently closes the door behind her. And locks it. 

She turns, taking it all in.

There’s a neutral colored couch pushed up against the wall, in front of a large window that gives way to the city if you opened the blinds. Small glass end tables on either side, one with a lamp and the other with a stack of journals. 

She pulls his jacket tighter around her.

The kitchen is visible from where she stands, a marble-countered island separating it from the living room. Not a thing out of place, not a single dish dirty.

Taking a few steps further into the living room, she spots his small television. And a record player next to it. Even from where she stands, she recognizes the vinyl cover that sits on top of the rest. Her heart does double time, and she softly turns the machine on. Crackling static feels the air, and a familiar voice echoes through his apartment.

She scoffs, shakes her head, and turns the music off. 

The strap of her bag is starting to slip, and she readjusts the weight slung over her shoulder.

There’s only one hallway, and she descends down it. There are two doors, both closed. One to her left, and one to her right. ‘This is Vegas, baby,’ she tells herself, smirking at her own joke, she goes left. 

She’s hit. With the smell of him, and she inhales. Deeply. It’s the same scent on his jacket, and it does something to her. It’s a masculine, clean smell; one of black cardamom and musk. She wanted to bathe in it. It could only mean one thing, and that one thing being that she was in his bedroom.

‘You are invading his privacy. Get. Out.’ 

But her feet are planted to their spot. 

His room is dark, with blackout curtains keeping any sunlight from entering. His bed is on the larger side, a Queen maybe? The sheets are made up, and are also a dark color. Nightstands on either side of the bed, a lamp closer to the right side, where his alarm clock sits and reads 4:14 PM. She turns to leave, when a framed picture catches her eye. It sits on the dresser, across from his bed. 

She stops herself. And retreats, closing the door behind her.

–

The hours pass, and she’s back on her bender. Notes are scattered about his desk, opened books lay on the carpet behind her, a pink highlighter has fallen to the floor and rests by her feet. She’s still wearing his jacket. She doesn’t hear him unlock the front door, doesn’t hear him close it. 

She’s in the middle of some chemistry equation when he opens the door, peeking his head in.

“Catherine?”

She jumps in the chair, papers scattering about the floor. She looks panicked, but realizes it’s him.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me,” she mutters, bending to pick up her lost study guide.

“Hard at work?” She shrugs, looking back at the material she’s studied so far. The quietness of his spare bedroom has worked wonders on her concentration, and she actually feels confident. 

“It’s coming along,” she says after a while, feeling the sudden urge to stretch. She yawns, her arms go above her head to loosen up tight muscles, and his eyes fall to the bare skin of her mid-drift, her crop top rising higher the harder she stretches. 

He licks his lips. She catches the color rising in his neck. He clears his throat… weakly. 

“I ugh… I stopped to pick up a few things on my way.” She looks at him with a hint of confusion. “Salmon sound okay?” 

She realizes he’s talking about dinner, and her mouth falls open. 

“You don’t… you don’t have to do that, Gil,” she pleads, guilt flooding her once again. It was already enough that he was letting her study here. And now the man wanted to cook her dinner?

But her rumbling stomach betrays her, and he grins. 

“Take a break.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on,” he encourages, watching as she slowly pushes herself up from the office chair. He pushes the door open a little wider, his arm propping it open. She ducks underneath it. “Nice jacket, by the way,” he mutters as she passes. She grins back at him, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. When he sees her shrugging it off, he shakes his head. “Keep it,” he says, pulling the jacket back over her shoulders. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

It’s the most physical contact they’ve had, and she starts to sweat. 

‘You are in big trouble,’ she hears a voice in the back of her head say, the familiar feel of new attraction taking over. ‘Get a grip. He’s technically your boss.’

He passes her, leading her to the kitchen, but when he realizes she’s not following, he stops. 

“The salmon isn’t going to cook itself.” 

She shakes her head in amusement, and walks up to him, grabbing at his arm and pushing him into the kitchen playfully.


	4. Tiny Dancer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a long chapter! Sorry for any grammar mistakes! Thanks to everyone who's taking the time to read! Please let me know how it is, especially if you like it!

She stares at the date circled in red. December 17th. Tomorrow. A Wednesday. Her graduation day. It had been a day she dreamed about for a long time, had even requested the day off months in advanced, but cold feet were getting the best of her. No one would go to her graduation, no one would stand up and cheer for her as she walked across the stage. So why bother? She’d get her diploma mailed to her in wake of her absence. That was good enough for her. 

She would officially start her new position with the crime lab at the end of January, after her orientation and job-training were complete. 

No word yet of which team she’d be joining. 

She jumps at the sound of his voice, straightening in her chair and looking up at him. He fights off a smirk. She hadn’t seen him since the night she’d left his apartment, after a good deal of studying under her belt and with a full belly. She had abandoned her studying to accompany him in the kitchen, where he had poured himself a glass of wine, and had offered her one. She had declined politely, blaming it on the remainder of the material she had to study. 

“Deep in thought?” He’s in a good mood, she realizes, by the tone of his voice. She shuffles some of the papers in front of her, trying her best to look busy, but failing. 

“Ugh… yeah. Just… thinking,” she says, setting the now neatly stacked papers off to the side of her glass lab table, then lacing her fingers together and placing her joined hands in front of her. “What can I help with,” she asks, trying to change the subject. But it’s too late, as his eyes roam towards the calendar, and he catches on. 

“About tomorrow?” Her face falls, and her shoulders slump in defeat. An urge to moan her frustration bubbles up in her throat. 

"I knew I should’ve taken the calendar down,” she mutters into her hands. She had made up her mind; she was going to take the day to relax, maybe head downtown to buy herself something well deserved. 

“You’re not going.” He doesn’t have to ask, because he already knows. The slight disappointment doesn’t go unnoticed by Catherine, who only shrugs her shoulders. 

“No,” she says, almost as if trying to convince herself. “No, I have work tomorrow.” She’s proud of the last-minute excuse, but when he narrows his eyes, she knows he hasn’t bought it.

“You have tomorrow and Thursday off.” She cusses under her breath. What was he doing? Going through the schedule to see when she worked? She’d have to do some more investigating into that matter, later. “Catherine, why not,” he asks, the disappointment now evident in his voice. “You worked so hard for this.” 

And the truth is, she doesn’t know why. Was it the embarrassment of having no one there to support her? Surely, there would be other people in the same situation as her. The cap and gown wasn’t an excuse; it currently hung in her closet, courtesy of another recent graduate at the crime lab. So why was it so hard for her to answer him? She looks around the empty lab, realizing it’s just the two of them. If she couldn’t talk about it with him, then who?

“Not that I would expect you to understand, but it just kind of feels so… pathetic.” He tilts his head in confusion. It hits her, suddenly, how undeniably attractive he is. The voice in her head is back, the same one from the night she spent at his place studying, convincing her that nothing would come of it. She could stare and admire all she wanted, but he was a professional. He wouldn’t be caught dead fraternizing with anyone he worked with, especially her. His blue eyes are trained on her face, and she takes a deep breath. “I’m twenty-seven years old and live in a run-down studio apartment. I’ve had to work two jobs just to even afford my apartment. I’m a lab-rat and make as much. I don’t have any time for my friends- friends who wouldn’t bother coming to my graduation, anyway. I just-” She suddenly catches herself in a whirlpool of emotions, and clears her throat, aware of how unprofessional she seems. “I just don’t see the point,” she says finally, causing him to nod his head slowly. 

The only sound in the room is the constant hum of computers and machines. Until he speaks.

“I’d go,” he says simply. She narrows her eyes at him, unsure of what he was trying to say. “I mean… if you’d like for me to, that is.”

She’s stunned. Shocked. At a loss for words. And her expression mirrors that. It catches her off-guard so much so, that she can’t seem to form a sentence. Finally, a leery smile forms on her face. 

“Sure,” is all she can manage, not trusting her voice just yet. “I mean, yeah. If you’re free tomorrow.” He smirks.

“It just so happens I am.”

And later that day, her heart is racing for a second time, as she holds a small piece of paper. She stands in front of his office, but he’s not inside, and she actually prefers it this way, she realizes. On the paper are the time, two addresses, and a phone number, and underneath is a small note that reads:

__

‘First address is for the ceremony. Second is mine. Pick me up an hour before the ceremony. We can celebrate after, if you’re game.

\- Catherine’

And all while holding her breath, she steps into his office, lays the folded note on his desk, and exits. It’s not until the end of their shift that she sees him again. She’s hanging up her lab coat in her locker, trading it out for her jacket and purse, when he appears in the doorway. 

“Got your memo,” he says, causing her to turn her head in his direction. He’s scanning the rest of the locker room, and for what, she doesn’t know. She flips her hair over her shoulder after her jacket is snugly on. 

“Oh, that? Yeah I… I figured it would be easier if we just went together,” she says, convinced that he’s come here to tell her that he’ll just meet her at the ceremony, instead. She hears herself talk, and wonders at what point did she start to lose her words around him? And why was she suddenly so… nervous every time she saw him?

“It’s a date,” he says with a grin, flashing her the folded piece of paper she had left on his desk, and leaves her speechless.

Surely, he didn’t mean it like that.

–

When the day comes, she wakes up early… and can’t seem to fall back asleep. So she pulls herself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, and bundles up at her kitchen table with a mug between her hands. His jacket is wrapped around her, and as she sips on the hot beverage, she casts a glance at the cap and gown hanging up by her window. 

She was finished. Finished with school, with the late nights of studying, with working two jobs just to get by, done with it all. Now, the only things left on her list included moving into a nicer apartment, spending more time with friends, and possibly… finding a new love interest? She had made a promise to herself at the beginning of her studies not to distract herself with the opposite sex, when so much was on the line. But that had been nearly two years ago, and she was ready, to say the least.

The ceremony starts at seven o’clock, just for students graduating in the College of Science. And as the time nears five, she begins her routine. She pulls a tight black dress out from the back of her closet, complete with long sleeves and cut-outs of the shoulder, and a neckline low enough for a small portion of cleavage to peek out.

She’d have a long, black graduation gown over this ensemble, and as she does a double-take in the body-length mirror, she bites her bottom lip. ‘I did say we would go out after to celebrate,’ she tells herself. She keeps her makeup simple, slips on a pair of black heels, and runs her fingers through her big curls. Just as she hears his car horn sound, she slips on the black ceremony gown. 

She locks up her apartment, slings a small clutch over her shoulder that houses her apartment keys, wallet, and a few items of touch-up makeup, and appears at the top of her staircase. He ducks his head, looking through the windshield, and sees nothing but black high-heels and long legs. 

His heart skips a beat. His grip tightens a bit on the steering wheel.

‘Wow,’ is what he thinks when she finally reveals herself in the parking lot, waving shyly at him when she spots his car. He leaves the engine running, and gets out of the car to greet her. She slows her pace when she sees him round the front of the car, and lean against the passenger side. His arms are crossed over his chest. He notices she carries the cap under her arm. 

“Very punctual,” she teases, stopping just short of him. 

“You look great,” he says softly. ‘Beautiful,’ he corrects himself mentally. She looks down at her attire, and meets him with a devilish grin.

“Wait until you see what’s underneath.” She winks at him, and suddenly it’s his turn to look down her body, and very slowly, she notices. Normally, when guys would give her ‘the look’, she’d raise her defenses, have sassy comebacks at the ready for whatever pick-up line they’d try on her. But when he did it… she swore the crisp Nevada cold held nothing to the fire that was currently ignited within her. And all because of the way he looked at her.

He chuckles, pushes himself away from the car, and opens the door for her. With one hand gripping the top of the door frame, he extends his other hand to her. She places her hand in his softly, allowing him to guide her into the front seat. She smooths out her gown, readjusts her purse, and places the cap in her lap before he gently shuts the door.

The drive to the coliseum doesn’t take long, and before he knows it, they’re having to separate. He sees the other group of students, and navigates to the guest seating, but not before she calls out to him.

“See you soon.” She waves, and disappears into the crowd. 

And as if her prayers had been answered, the opening speech isn’t long, but sincere in wishing the graduates a bright future. Rows of graduates stand, and one by one, they walk across a stage to receive their diploma, and to shake hands with the President of the university. 

“Catherine Flynn.” When her name is called, a handful of her classmates, along with other guests, clap as she walks across the stage. 

Gil watches from his seat, eyes trained on her; how she smiles when her name is called, how she gracefully glides across the stage in heels, how she politely shakes another man’s hand, and how she patiently waits for the Dean of her college to hand over her diploma. 

She immediately turns to scan the crowd, searching for him. And when her eyes fall on him, he claps even harder, raising his hands higher to signal that he sees her, and that he couldn’t be more proud of her. 

–

They end up at the same place, the one she had taken him to months ago. When he parks the car, she doesn’t wait for him to come around. She exits his vehicle, and unzips the long graduation gown, revealing the black dress that clings to her body underneath. He’s locking up his car when he catches the flip of her hair, her perfume drifting towards him. 

His car keys are starting to cut into his palm as he watches her stride around the front of the car, coming to meet him. True to her word, she looks absolutely stunning, and for once in his life… he wishes he wasn’t a Level III CSI, that he wasn’t her coworker. Her blue eyes reflect the twinkling lights of the busy Las Vegas Strip, and he’s so glad he’s convinced her to enjoy this night.

He’s got that half-smile plastered on his face, the one she’s grown to adore over the past weeks. Even from where they stand, paces away from the corridor that’ll lead them to the intimate area, she can clearly hear the music that blasts from the speakers.

One good thing about Vegas, that no matter the day of the week or time of day, there was always a party somewhere. 

“Shall we?” He extends an arm, which she loops with her own, and together they walk into the crowded area. He allows her to lead him through the packed space, but when there’s no room left for two people to walk side by side, he feels her hand trail down his arm, until her fingers are lacing with his. 

She squeezes his hand. Their proximity is so close thanks to the number of people celebrating tonight, so much that their joined hands are sandwiched between her backside and the front of his trousers. He clenches his jaw when he realizes the back of his hand is pressed firmly against her ass, and he prays to the God’s above that she doesn’t feel the growing hard on in his pants. 

Before things can get awkward, though, they come to a clearing and he exhales as she moves a little further away from him. He expects her to release his hand, and is slightly surprised when she doesn’t. He can see her sway rhythmically to the music that plays overhead, and she twirls once after bringing their joined hands above her head. 

She leads them to the bar that’s tucked away in a corner, and flags down the bartender. He’s at their immediate service upon seeing her, Gil notices. 

“One dirty martini, vodka. And one whiskey, neat, for my friend,” she says. He leans down to speak, his voice tickling the hairs by her ear.

“Am I that predictable?”

“We’re here to celebrate, not make small talk.” And when they’re presented with their drinks, they touch rims. “Cheers,” she says before taking a slow sip of her martini. The alcohol burns on the way down, and he knows it’s a dangerous game to play with her. He sips in moderation, and decides that he’ll have only one more before cutting himself off. A bar stool becomes available, and she hops onto it, her dress hiking higher on her thighs. 

He takes another sip of Johnnie Walker, but realizes the combination would also prove dangerous; alcohol and thoughts of her thighs, specifically wrapped around him. He watches as the alcohol takes hold of her, cheeks flushing with color, laughter bubbling from her throat, swaying in time with every song that plays.

“Has Ecklie given you any more details?”

“No, but I have a feeling I’ll get stuck on Graveyard. That’s where they stick all the rookies. Weed them out,” she says with a shrug, fishing the green olive out from her empty glass. 

“Some of my most interesting cases were on Graveyard back in Minneapolis,” he comforts, but the thought doesn’t really seem to bother her much… not as much as it bothers him that he’ll lose her to another team, as he thought. 

“It won’t be so bad, I guess. I’m young. I can adapt.” She flags the bartender down. Another martini. His glass is sweating even in the cold Nevada air, and she suddenly becomes aware of the temperature once her empty martini glass gets swept away by a busboy. He shrugs off his jacket, thankful for the thick sweater he wore underneath, and drapes it over her shoulders. “Another to add to my collection,” she teases, and he chuckles.

“If we make this a habit, I’ll be out of a wardrobe pretty soon.” 

In truth, he’d give her the sweater off of his back if it meant keeping her warm. But the jacket suffices, and he watches as she turns her head, inhaling the cologne that’s clung to the material. It’s something she does in the comfort of her apartment when she wears his other jacket, the one he’s let her keep, and never in front of anyone… until now. She freezes, her face buried in his jacket, and when she sheepishly looks at him, he folds his arms over his chest, as if waiting for her little confession.

“Your jacket smells good,” she states the obvious, choosing her words carefully.

As the night progresses, a few of her classmates from throughout the years recognize her, come up to talk to her and congratulate her on her new position at the crime lab. And just when he thinks he’s pulled off the perfect celebratory night for her, the vodka kicks in.

“We’re friends… right?” The question comes out of no where, and it stops him from bringing his tonic water to his lips. 

“I like to think so, yes.” 

“You came to my graduation,” she states and he’s unsure where she’s headed with her words, so he nods his head.

“I did.”

“And you came out with me to celebrate.” It’s almost as if she has to speak the words aloud for her to believe them, to believe that any of it had ever happened at all. For some reason, it saddens him. How did this incredible woman not have any close friends? And how had he managed to get so lucky?

A familiar piano rift floats from the speakers, and she licks her lips. 

“Friends dance.” He looks around, panicked. “Come on,” she says, pulling on his arm, but he lets his head fall to the side.

“Catherine, I have two left feet. I’ll embarrass us both,” he pleads, and she gives him the most pitiful pout he’s ever seen. “I promise… another time, maybe.” She nods her head, and swallows her disappointment.

“I’ll hold you to it, bugman.”

–

The night comes to an end as he pulls up to her apartment, and for once, Christopher’s apartment is dead silent. 

He helps her out of the car, gathers her cap and gown for her, and walks her up the stairs. She pauses briefly to unlock the door, and he stalls. 

“Aren’t you coming in,” she asks, shrugging off his jacket and handing it back to him. Slowly, he accepts her invite, and steps into her small apartment. The first thing he sees is his old jacket, bundled up on top of her bed. He closes the door behind him, and watches as she toes off the heels as she stands in her kitchen. She leans against the counter, between her sink and stove, and cranes her neck from side to side to relieve the tension. Reaching over, she turns on a small radio poised in the corner of her counter, and the same damn song comes on.

She looks at him. He laughs.

“Must be fate,” he says, shaking his head in amusement and lifting his arms in an invitation for her to walk into. Her face lights up at the realization that he’s asking her to dance, and she pushes herself away from the counter. Without her heels, she seems so much smaller than him, but he’s not surprised that it’s a perfect fit. 

“You did promise me,” she reminds him, settling for a friendly embrace. Either of her hands are on his arms, and he has no choice but to let his grip fall to her tiny waist. She can feel the heat of his fingers through the thin material of her dress. 

They start to sway effortlessly. As if they had done this countless times before. In the privacy of her dimly lit, studio kitchen. 

“You do not have two left feet, Gil Grissom,” she says after a few moments of comfortable silence. 

“You just wait. We’ll be a tangled mess of limbs here shortly,” he says, smirking down at her. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from her face as the song picks up, and her hands are suddenly moving. Higher, higher, until her fingers lock behind his neck. It forces them closer, and he’s breathing in her perfume once more. It makes him lightheaded. 

“There are worse things that could happen.” He’s sure she can feel how fast his heart is beating as she contently lays her head against his chest, allowing her eyes to close in comfort. He has to adjust his hold on her, his hands overlapped on her lower back as they sway unhurriedly. 

A dozen different thoughts flood his mind, and he wants nothing more than to just bask in the moment, of finally holding her so close. So he does, and he’ll save the questions for the morning. 

When the song comes to an end and fades, she slowly disentangles her arms from around his neck, but he can’t seem to pull his arms from around her. She doesn’t seem to mind. 

“You upheld your promise,” she says proudly.

“That’s what friends are for,” he resorts, reluctantly letting his arms fall from her waist.


	5. Pale Blue Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter! Thanks for all the views! Sorry for any grammar mistakes! Hope you're all enjoying :)

She sees it at a little shop that’s downtown, and she goes into the building without a second thought. She had initially avoided these types of places at all costs; weird, dimly-lit, gothic themed shops. A small bell chimes above her head as she enters, the smell of Wisteria burning her nostrils. A thin layer of smoke hangs in the air, and she feels out of place. She knows the wandering eyes behind the cash register are watching with curiosity, as if studying some strange type of creature. 

Passing dusty books, old trinkets, dead flowers… she stops and turns. It’s a small, crocheted black spider, with a long loop attached to his back; to be strung up as decoration for some sort. She carefully picks it out, pays for it, and lingers in the shop a bit more. It wasn’t much, but it had reminded her of him; maybe he could hang it up in his office or in his car? She had no doubt he’d love it, which is why she buys it. 

But unfortunately, she doesn’t work on Christmas. But she does the next day, and she almost oversleeps. Frantically, she’s pushing through the hallway until she collides with someone in the door of the locker room. A pair of firm hands reach out and secure her waist, keeping her from falling over. Looking up, she realizes it’s Gil, and adjusts the strap of her duffle bag nervously when she realizes how close they are.

“Oh, would you look at that? A nerd love fest.” She looks at Michael add then back up at Gil. Finally, her eyes trail up, and she sees the damned mistletoe still hanging from the frame. No one had taken down the Christmas decorations. And if she didn’t have an audience, she might have indulged and given Gil a kiss on the cheek. Something’s changed between them, but for the better, since that night of her graduation. If she thought she was protective over him them, she sure as hell was now. 

She can’t help the words that leave her mouth, knowing full well Tadero would have her back. He was the only reason she decided to give up stripping and go back to school. 

“Christmas was yesterday, asshole.”

She feels Gil’s hand, the one still on her waist, but hidden from Michael, squeeze… and then he’s off to his office, leaving her.

Michael straightens on the bench, adjusting his badge, and smirks.

“What? You think you’re hot shit now that you’re about to be ‘one of us’?” He stands, stalks closer to her, but she holds her ground and locks eyes with the man as he pushes past her, into the hallway to get to work. She rolls her eyes. There will be enough time to run circles around him at a crime scene, to prove she belongs here. She throws her dufflebag onto the bench, sits to calm her nerves, and finally throws open her locker. Only two more shifts left before she’d be enrolled into her Criminalist Orientation. Her eyes stop on a neatly wrapped gift, one in simple red wrapping paper, and she slowly reaches for it. There’s a small envelope attached to it, which she goes for first.

‘This reminded me of you. Merry Christmas. Gil’

She grins, unwraps the gift, and carefully turns over the glass frame. It’s a beautiful butterfly, one bright blue in color, preserved perfectly between pieces of glass. Underneath, there’s a small plaque that reads: Polyommatus bellargus. She gawks at it, knowing this wasn’t exactly on the cheaper end of things, and gently holds it in her hands. It was absolutely beautiful. And it reminded him of her? She glances at her bag, knowing his gift is in there, and rethinks it. But she can’t go to him empty handed after he had given her something like that.

He’s out in the field most of the shift, so she thinks she’s lost her chance to give him the gift. She keeps herself busy cleaning up the lab, the layout room, the photo lab, and she’s got approximately thirty minutes left of her shift by the time he and Michael file into the lab, dropping off bags of evidence, fingerprints, fluid samples. She logs the pieces, taking her time, and watches as Michael leaves without a word. Gil is about to follow suite, and she can tell he’s deep in thought, but something makes her speak up.

“Hey… you have a minute?” He looks up at her thoughtfully. “I um… wanted to give you this earlier,” she says, presenting the small gift in front of him, laying it on the lab table. He looks at it quizzically, before slowly picking it up and unwrapping it in front of her. She anxiously holds her breath, and when he sees the crocheted spider, he actually smiles; a boyish, toothy grin she’s never seen before. It seems to make him forget about whatever was occupying his mind before. “Do you like it,” she asks, uncertainty still all over her face despite his bright smile.

“I most certainly do.” 

–

Her last day as a lab technician is Sunday, the 28th. She fully expects to come in, do her job for ten or so hours, and to head home. But Julia, her friend in the lab, had other plans. There was a handwritten banner taped up on the lab’s wall, the words ‘Good luck!’ written in bold, red letters. She straightens out her lab coat when she sees it, and looks to her friend. 

“What’s all this?”

“We’re losing a good technician.” She rounds the corner to walk into her friend’s embrace, and the older woman rubs Catherine’s back quickly. “You’ll do great in the field.”

“Thank you,” whispers, almost sadly. She would miss her coworkers in the lab, would miss the consistency of things, the safety she felt of knowing her job inside and out. She wasn’t sure yet which higher level CSI they would place her with, she just prayed it wasn’t Michael. 

And they make it to the end of the shift, when she walks into the break room to a small celebratory party for her last shift. There’s a small cake, another banner courtesy of Julia, and everyone has made an effort to make a quick appearance… except Gil, she notices. 

She’s making her way around the room to thank the people who have come to see her off, when he appears at the door. He doesn’t say a word, just watches with crossed arms as she laughs at something Tadero tells her. And it’s as if she can feel his eyes on her, so she turns her head. Most of the people have either filtered out to get back to work, or to clock out for the night, so she walks up to him.

“Your last day,” he says, earning him a wide smile and a nod of her head.

“As a technician, anyway.” He shifts his weight onto his other foot. “You gonna miss me,” she teases, reaching out to playfully push against his arm. He wants to tell her that he will miss her, more than she’ll know, while she’s swept away for three weeks for her orientation. But what he doesn’t want to tell her, is that he’ll be making a trip to Tadero’s office after she leaves, for a special request. “Have any big plans Wednesday?”

He racks his brain. Wednesday. The 31st. New Year’s Eve. He was working. 

“Well besides work, not particularly.”

She nods, runs her tongue over her bottom lip, and grins. 

“Good.”

And an hour or so later, she’s gone. He double checks that she’s left before knocking on Tadero’s office door. The older man, behind his desk, looks up through his reading glasses and pauses when he sees Gil Grissom standing in his door. 

“Gil. What brings you in?”

He shuffles nervously, but walks into the office and closes the door behind him. He’s built up the courage over the past week or so to actually do this, and he doesn’t want to back down now. 

“If it’s not a bad time,” he starts off, and is beckoned forward by Tadero’s hand, motioning for Gil to sit. “I um… I’m here about Catherine Flynn,” he says, causing Jimmy’s head to lift quickly from the paperwork in front of him. His eyes widen with uncertainty, and it catches Gil off guard. He’s never seen Tadero looked more concerned, and it dawns on him that he probably thinks Gil has come to announce some kind of… Human Resource topic. “I think she’ll make a great addition to Dayshift.” 

The older man relaxes a bit in his chair, when he realizes Gil’s intentions. 

“I’ve already promised her to Graveyard,” Jimmy says, indifferent. Gil’s stomach flips, and his heart seems to be swelling up in his throat. All of this time, he could take comfort knowing she was safe behind the walls of the crime lab, but with the looming dangers of her going out into the field, he’d come to realize that he’d much prefer if she was with him.

“There’s got to be something-”

“Listen, Gil. Graveyard was in need, so they got the two graduates. Catherine and David are going to be paired with good CSIs. She’s a tough girl; she’ll be okay.”

He can feel his thoughts spinning out of control. There seems to be no use in changing the other man’s mind, so he does the next best thing. 

–

There’s a knock at his door, just as the sun had set. He wipes his hands dry on a kitchen towel, throws it over his shoulder, and moves to answer the door. She comes into view, a smile on her face and two brown, paper bags in either arm. He looks her over, deciding that she looks absolutely precious in her over-sized WLVU sweatshirt and black leggings. 

“Reinforcements,” he asks, motioning towards the liquor she currently holds.

“We couldn’t celebrate New Year’s without it,” she explains, moving past him to get to his kitchen. It’s her second time here, but it feels like her hundredth. She glances at all the food prepped on his kitchen counter, and turns back to him, carefully removing the glass bottles as she talks. “You’re really going all out, aren’t you?”

“Think of it as a late Christmas, on-time New Year’s dinner.” He moves back behind the island, resuming his spot, and she pulls herself up on one of the bar stools. He reaches above, into the cupboard, and grabs to glasses for her to make them drinks. 

Vodka and lime soda, with ice. She pours a little heavy on the alcohol, and he watches, giving her a playfully disapproving look. She hands one to him, takes a sip of her own.  


“Want some music,” she asks, and he nods. She slips off the stool with her glass in her hand, and moves to his vinyl player. Flipping through the different options, she chooses something that’ll keep the mood light. The smell of the food he’s preparing overwhelms the masculine scent she first remembers, and as she moves about his living room, she notices a few of the journals scattered about his coffee table, and his couch cushions had been rearranged. 

She joins him in the kitchen, leans against the marble counter, hugging her glass close to her chest. She looks over him quickly, smiling to herself at how effortless it seemed. In the past few months she’d known him, he really had managed to wedge himself into her life. She had found herself thinking of him throughout the days she worked, and the days she didn’t. And watching as his biceps ripple as he works in the kitchen, a sudden hot flash passes over her.

She blames it on the alcohol, but takes another generous sip. 

“Is there something I can help with,” she asks, and he shakes his head. 

“Almost done,” is his reply, and sure enough, he sticks the chicken in the oven, sets a timer, and washes his hands. He brings up his glass to clink with hers, and she smiles at him as he brings the untouched glass to his lips, testing his drink. He nearly chokes as the alcohol sneaks up on him. “You know how to make a drink,” he coughs, and she chuckles. 

The sound of muffled fireworks catches her attention, and she moves quickly to the double-glass, sliding doors that lead to his small balcony, which overlooks the city. Off in the distance, in some small neighborhood, families are celebrating and the fireworks are bright. 

She slides the glass doors open, takes a step out, and watches. It doesn’t take long for him to join her, except he’s got some wool blanket and a jacket for himself. She sits in the metal patio chair, accepts the blanket from him, and wraps it around her. The cold had actually been a nice change compared to the growing temperature in his condo, but she knew she’d be cold soon… and so did he. 

They sit in a comfortable silence before she tucks her feet underneath her, and tosses back another sip. She thinks it’ll just be them, watching the fireworks light up the night sky, so she’s a bit startled when she hears his voice. 

“This is the first holiday I haven’t spent alone in a while.” He doesn’t meet her eyes as he says it, just staring out into the city.

“What about your mother,” she asks.

“I had plans to visit her sometime this week. It’s been years,” he says with a voice laced with guilt. 

She can’t believe her ears, hearing him talk about something so personal to him. She wonders if she can get more out of him, because she likes to see him like this. 

“What is she like,” she asks, causing him to look up at her. “Your mother,” she confirms. 

He leans back in his chair, contemplation weighing him down. No one really knew about his parents except for his ex-girlfriend, which had happened so long ago, and who’d he left in Minneapolis. He shrugs.

“She’s my mother,” he says with a smirk. “She… was strict, growing up. Not that she ever needed to be; I really didn’t get into much trouble.” 

“Are you sure? I can totally see you sulking in the principal’s office,” she teases and he laughs. Shaking his head, he’s thrown back in time and trying to describe what life was like when he was younger. 

“And after my father died,” she catches his words, and suddenly goes rigid. She had no clue. All of her assumptions had led her to believe he had a happy home life, one complete with a loving mother and father who supported his every decision; how else had he become so successful? It had never once occurred to her that they maybe could have more than crime scenes in common. “She was kind of lost,” he finishes. 

She doesn’t want to pry, but the fact that he’s telling her something so intimate, only makes her ask more questions. Her heart warms when he answers them, with no hesitation. She’d come to learn numerous things about him: that his father had died of a heart attack, that he’d been fascinated with death since, that his mother suffered from the hearing loss shortly after losing her husband, that he was an only child. 

Her heart broke for him, and he hadn’t asked for her sympathy, which made her feel for him even more. She clears her throat after a small span of silence stretches between them. She decides, then, that it’s time. And looking down at her near empty drink, she realizes she’ll have to fill up after she reveals her secrets, afraid he’ll react the way she thinks he will. 

“My mother was a showgirl. You know, with the obnoxious head pieces-” She motions with her hands, above her head, and he chuckles, nods to let her know he gets it. “She traveled around the coast for shows; ripped me from one school to the next.”

He listens contently, not wanting to interrupt her. 

“I knew I didn’t want to live like that, but she made good money… it paid the bills. So imagine my disappointment when we end up here, my senior year of high school. And… not long after, getting roped into the same business,” she finally reveals, going quiet as the words sink in. She tosses back the remaining alcohol in her cup, hoping it’ll give her the courage to face him. And as she’d thought, he’s quiet. “God, I’ve scared you off for good, haven’t I,” she says jokingly, shaking her head in shame. 

“Quite the opposite,” is all he says, meeting her eyes. In fact, he’s quite certain that he’s falling in love with her, if he hadn’t already. And he smiles to himself, finding it fitting, that someone like him would fall for someone like her. 

Somewhere off in the distance, more fireworks explode. 

She swallows hard, hoping that her little secret hadn’t made him rethink their friendship, hadn’t truly scared him away, hadn’t made him think any less of her. She didn’t care what other people thought of her, but for some reason, his opinion mattered. 

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” she says softly, pushing herself up from the chair, and gently draping the blanket over the back of her chair. She goes inside of his condo, bracing her hands on the edge of his marble-top island, and exhaling. Nerves were getting the best of her, but it was nothing a little more vodka couldn’t fix. 

Outside, he stares out over the balcony, his mind working overtime. There was no use denying how he felt about her now, and for him to be able to trust her enough to let her in on that part of his life, the part he had tried to forget about, was reason enough. So he, too, pushes himself up from the chair, heads inside of the condo to find her hunched over the island. 

His feet feel like lead, and his heart is pounding so hard, he swears he can feel it in his ears. He never did have a knack for timing. He has to do this, because he’s not quite sure if he’ll ever have the chance or the courage to do it again. 

She looks up when she hears the glass doors slide open, watching him walk closer to her. She reaches for the bottle of vodka as she speaks.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve asked if you wanted-”

He grabs the alcohol from her, sets it forcefully down on his counter, and grabs the back of her neck with his other hand. She grabs hold of his arms for balance, as his lips descend on hers. Her head is tilted back, her eyes closed, and her lips against his. Her own heart is doing double time, and although she’s taken back, she loves how it feels. 

She doesn’t make a move, afraid he’ll pull away in fear he’s done something wrong. She can feel his thumb against her cheek and his other fingers against the back of her neck, keeping her in place.

He needs a sign, something that tells him she won’t slap him across the face for kissing her, before he continues any further. And just as he’s about to pull away from her, she tightens her grip on his arms, ever so slightly parts her lips, and makes a small sound of encouragement. 

His other hand immediately flies to her waist, pulling her flush against him. She gasps into their kiss, and he takes the opportunity to deepen it. She tastes like vodka and 7up, her tongue cool against his own. 

Everything rational leaves his head; the fact that she’s his coworker, that he’ll be training her on Graveyard in a few weeks, that they’ve only known each other for months, that he shouldn’t be doing this after all they’ve had to drink. 

All he knows is that there’s a tightness in his chest, that she feels incredible against him, she smells amazing, how soft her skin is… 

Her own hands are sliding up his arms, over his biceps, on his shoulders, tickle his neck, and stop on either side of his face, refusing to let him back away now. She can feel herself reacting to his touch, to his tongue in her mouth, and wants more. 

He’s so close, she nearly has to lean backwards as he continues to kiss her, but she pushes back, matching his passion kiss for kiss. She feels him respond, feels him harden against her thigh, and then feels herself go damp between the legs. 

The timer for the chicken goes off in the kitchen, making him tear his lips away. She inhales deeply, and lets her head fall in defeat against his arm, a few moments of silence before her laughter fills the space between them. He grins, too, a possessive hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, keeping her against him still.


	6. Young Lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and views! Sorry for any grammar mistakes!

The drive to his mother's house takes almost four and a half hours. It's a long trip, but he's got Catherine's gift to keep him company. The little black spider swings from where it's wrapped against his rear view mirror, and he grins every time he sees it. His old childhood home is only blocks away from the pier, and the beach, and he wonders if Catherine's ever been this far west. Pulling his car into the driveway, his mother is out on the porch to greet him in record time.

She's ecstatic to see him, welcoming him with open arms, not having seen her son in years. She ushers him into the house, where he drops his overnight back onto the kitchen floor, by the table.

"Sit. Relax," she signs with her hands and fingers, motioning to the chair. He obeys, and watches as she fetches a mug for the tea she's just brewed.

"Thank you," he signs back.

They fall into conversation easily enough, picking up right where they left things years ago. She asks about the move to Minneapolis, how life was like there, why he chose to move closer to home, and what his new position at the Las Vegas Crime Lab entailed.

She's never been to Vegas, and wants him to describe what it's like to her. He looks up, his head tilting back and forth as he searches for the words. The only things that come to mind are Catherine… and lights; lots of lights.

"Busy," he signs. She smiles. "Beautiful," he adds, and her smiles grows. "I will take you back with me one day."

"I would love that."

They sit in silence for a few minutes until she finally asks, with a knowing smile.

"Who is she?"

His head pops up from the mug of tea, and she can tell already that he's hiding something from her. The only person who comes to mind is Catherine, and he opens his mouth to say something, but quickly closes it.

"Who," he signs, wondering if he'd misread her sign.

"There is a girl. I can tell, Gilbert."

He's blown away, and partially terrified that even after all this time, she can still physically read him like a book.

"I work with her. We are friends. That is all."

"You are not being truthful."

"Mother," he begs.

"Who. Is. She." The signs are punctuated, and he knows he's not getting out of this one so easily.

"C-A-T-H-E-R-I-N-E." He signs her full name, and Betty smiles.

"How long have you known her?"

"We have only known each other a few months. I will be her mentor when she starts in the field."

"And?"

He wants to laugh, to check that he's at the right house. And that this is, infact, his mother. For someone so set on following the rules his whole life, she sure wasn't making a case for it now.

"And… it would be inappropriate for me to pursue it."

"Inappropriate, but not impossible."

He looks wildly at her. She silently sighs.

"You like her. Whoever she is. You are different. Happy, smiling."

"Enough about me." He waves off the topic, aware of the slight blush invading his cheeks. "What have you been up to?" She eyes her son suspiciously, taking small sips of tea. She'll play along with his game for now.

"Reading. Gardening."

"Have you been there lately," he signs, asking about her beloved book shop across town. Since her hearing loss, he'd ask her only to drive in extreme emergencies, preferring she take the bus, or have his aunt coordinate grocery trips for her. It was one thing he had made sure of before leaving for Chicago; that his mother had someone else she could rely on while he was away.

"No," she signs. "Will you take me?"

He grins, and nods his head.

The rest of the day is spent by the fireplace, his mother snuggled in her reading chair with glasses perched on the tip of her nose. A hot mug of tea sits next to him as he flips through a new edition of National Geographic. He's missed this; the quiet. Nothing about Las Vegas was quiet, and if he was being honest with himself, he'd always thought he would end up back here, in Santa Monica.

But Las Vegas wasn't so bad. It had museums, libraries, 24-hour coffee shops, and… Catherine.

When the sun sets, he takes his mother out to dinner- to some place quiet, and far away from tourists. The waitstaff know who they are, recognize Betty and Gil right away. The owner comes out to shake Grissom's hand, commenting about how long it had been.

"Seven years long," Gil confirms, his mother reading his lips with a sad smile. His mother orders the same thing as always, baked chicken with sweet potato mash and Thai snap beans. He doesn't order wine in his mother's presence, and settles for a glass of water.

"You leave tomorrow," she signs, once they've settled into their seats.

"I work the weekend."

"With her," she asks, amusement on her face.

"No." His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. It seems that his personal matters have been her only source of interest, and he chuckles. "When did my personal life become so important to you?"

"If you have not noticed, I am not getting any younger," she signs, with a knowing look. It takes him a few seconds to interpret her words, and his eyes grow wide.

"Mother," he signs.

She allows him to dismiss the topic again, and when dinner is over, he drives them home. She kisses him on the cheek, retires to bed, and leaves him in the living room. He locks up the house, cleans the dishes in the sink, puts away the tea pot.

His old room is just as he'd left it; clean, organized, full of memories from life here years ago. There are science fair ribbons strung on the wall, his old ant farm that had been long abandoned sits on a shelf, a hand-made replica of the solar system he'd done in the sixth grade still floated near his window. He falls onto the bed, stares up at the ceiling, and sighs.

Even twenty-four hours later, and he could still taste her on his lips. He closes his eyes, but it doesn't help. He sees her, hears her, smells her. He knew that when he returned to Las Vegas, he'd have to talk to her. About what… he wasn't sure yet.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, his face scrunches into uncertainty.

The way he saw it, three things could happen.

The first, being that by some divine miracle, things worked. And he wouldn't have his mother hounding him for… someone new, and small, to occupy her time with.

The second, being that things worked for some time, but for them to only realize just how different they really were, only to remain good friends.

And the third. He didn't want to think about the third.

–

She sits in the brightly lit room, her new ID badge hanging around her neck. She glances at the clock, sighs. It'll be a long day. She'd already received a new employee number and a new policy book that she decides to flip through while waiting for their instructor.

_III. Relationships at Work_

_A. Employees are encouraged to socialize and develop professional relationships in the workplace. Employees who engage in personal relationships (romantic or sexual) should be aware of their professional responsibilities._

_\- If the relationship is between a supervisor or employee who has influence/control over the other's conditions, that employee has an obligation to disclose the relationship to the department head or next level of administration._

She was definitely going to have to talk to him, wondering where they stood after their New Year's Even kiss. He had initiated it, she had encouraged it; they were both to blame. But she somewhat dreads the inevitable, fearing he'll chalk it up to too much alcohol, that it was a mistake and never to happen again. He was a well respected, well known criminalist; he would never jeopardize his position or all of her hard work. At least… that's what she had convinced herself of, anyway.

After a long day of going over evidence collecting procedures and the do's and don'ts of interviewing suspects, she's dismissed. All she wants to do is go home, change out of her stale clothes, and sleep. She turns down the offer to go out with her fellow orientees, promising David they'd all go out for drinks another time.

And when she makes it back to her apartment, she sees him leaning against his car door. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he's kicking loose gravel around, until her headlights illuminate him. She tenses in the front seat, but finds herself rushing to get out of the car, nonetheless.

"Hey," she greets first, the her breath steaming in the cold.

"I drove straight from Santa Monica," is all he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. Her eyes widen a bit, and she wonders how long he'd been waiting out in the cold… for her.

"Come on," she says, reaching out to pull him away from his car. "It's freezing out here." She leads him up to her apartment, unlocking the door and taking the lead. He follows slowly, looking around her studio flat. The only thing different now is the framed butterfly that sits on one of the shelves of her headboard. He closes the door behind him. "Make yourself at home. I'm just gonna..." She points to her bathroom, excusing herself. She leaves him in the kitchen, where he takes a seat in one of her mismatched chairs, facing the bathroom she'd just disappeared into.

He fidgets in the chair, his heart beating a little faster with every passing second. He nervously licks his lips as he hears the doorknob rattle, and watches as she reappears wearing more casual clothes. He looks over her, swallows hard. She notices, and looks down at her attire.

"Sorry. I wasn't… expecting any guests," she says as she turns to start a pot of coffee.

"I can- I didn't mean to intrude." He can feel his voice breaking already, and she shakes her head quickly, stopping him from pushing himself up from the table.

"No, no. I just meant… no." She's stammering her words, and he settles back into chair. "Stay," she says, holding her hand out in a gesture to make him still, and she smiles. She felt like she was training a puppy, and he damn well looked the part; big eyes and a cute pout. "Whatever made you drive straight here from Santa Monica must be important. So spill," she says boldly, having a good idea of what's on his mind.

The sound of hot water filtering through the coffee grinds fills his ears.

He's never had this much trouble before, and a voice in the back of his head tells him that it's only her, that it's Catherine, but it's terrifying all the same. It would be just as humiliating going back to Tadero to take back his request. And he didn't want to have to explain why.

He doesn't know where to start, how to express what he's feeling. But after a few moments of unbearable silence, she brings him back to reality.

"Gil," she says softly. "Talk."

The coffee is done brewing.

"My father taught Botany at the university," he starts, and she crosses her arms, leans against the kitchen counter directly across from him. "My mother… was a student of his."

"Right," she says, a bit unsure of why he's telling her this. His shoulders slump when she doesn't catch on.

"She had always been a stickler for the rules." He looks up at her. "My father was the charismatic one."

"I see who you take after then," she says under her breath, and he fights off a smile. He presses on, needing her to understand.

"My point is… they were wrong for each other, in more ways than one." Her breath catches in her throat, and it dawns on her. "But they worked," he says finally. His pulse rapid, a sudden wave of nausea threatening to present itself in anticipation of her reaction.

But she's silent. And still.

That third option, he fears, is starting to bare it's ugly teeth.

"This isn't a good idea," he says suddenly, defeated. For the second time, he tries to push himself away from the table, but her voice stops him.

"But what if it is?"

His eyes fly to hers, blue meet blue. His mouth hangs open in surprise, or maybe it had been open all this time in shock after what he thought was her dismissal. He slowly straightens as she stalks closer to him, until he feels his back press against the chair. She towers over him, looks down at him, her eyes searching his face. She's not sure at which point she'd started breathing a little heavier, but his face is inches away from hers.

She sees perfectly, the beginning of stress taking its toll around the corner of his eyes, that his beard and mustache had been neatly trimmed, how blue his eyes were under her kitchen lights. Being so close to him… she doesn't think she'll ever get used to this feeling; like some invisible force had latched onto the two of them, pulling them into close proximity whenever the other was near.

She sees a pair of hands trail up his chest, until they're resting on his shoulders, and she realizes it's her hands. He's parted his legs to allow her room, and when she steps forward, he sucks in a breath. It's his turn to tilt his head back, in order to keep his eyes trained on hers. He's not sure how much time has passed between them, but it feels like an eternity.

It's her turn to initiate their kiss, with a feather-light assault on his mouth. It's so soft, he closes his eyes to concentrate on the feel of her. Shaking hands come up to grab at her waist, pulling her closer until her knees bump the edge of the chair. She pulls away for a second, looking down at him one last time, committing this moment to memory, before grabbing his face. She doesn't mean for the next kiss to be so rough, but she's impatient. And she attacks. It's enough to make him part his lips in surprise at how direct she is, and she sweeps her tongue into his mouth.

She grows tired of the chair, her right thigh sliding over his, her left following, until she's expertly seated herself upon his lap. Not oblivious to the effect she's having on him, her lips curl into their kiss, pleased with his reaction.

A perfect fit, with her straddling his lap, and he makes a mental note to inquire about her past profession in the future. He doesn't think anything could be better than this; the object of his desires in his arms, kissing her, holding her… but all it takes is a roll of her hips against him, and he moans into her mouth.

They break apart momentarily, chests heaving, lips swollen, a shy smile on her face.

Gaining a small moment of clarity, she licks her lips before he can steal another kiss.

"Are you sure you want to do this," she asks, one last time, before her heart goes down the rabbit hole.

What he's absolutely sure of, is two things; that she makes him feel alive and he's willing to risk everything to see where this goes.

He nods.

"I can't wait to see the look on Ecklie's face."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," he teases, and she drapes her arms over his shoulders, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she nods her head, her laughter music to his ears.

And as if on cue, the loud thumping for next door grows louder, and louder until Gil winces. 

"Right on time," she says under her breath, pulling herself reluctantly away from him, and poking her head out the front door. 

Gil pushes himself up from the chair, rearranges himself, and walks up behind her. With a gentle hand on her lower back, he pushes her back and leaves the apartment. She watches with wild eyes as he stalks over to Christopher's apartment, and bangs on the door. 

The music is crisp and clear as the door swings open. 

"Hey, man," she hears her neighbor say.

"My name is Gil Grissom. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab." All it takes is one look at Gil's badge, before Christopher motions behind his back, signaling for the other party-goers to turn down the music. The rest of their conversation is muffled out, and before long, Gil's returning. She hangs on the door, a well-knowing smile on her face. He points next door. "He shouldn't be a problem anymore."

"Leaving already," she asks, a bit disappointed. She had hoped to talk more about their new found intimacy, and what it meant for lab. But her yawn betrays her.

"Get some sleep. I'll see you Monday," he says, moving to leave her. Grabbing hold of his arm, she pulls him back just enough for a gentle kiss on the lips, one that holds promise for the next time, and he grins.


	7. Friday I'm in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I think I may only have a few left in me before I'll end it! Thanks for all the views and kudos! Sorry for any grammar mistakes!

They’ve been doing whatever it is they’re doing for three weeks now. She hadn’t pressed the issue any, perfectly content with the way things were now. They’d see each other in passing during her orientation, sometimes eat lunch together in the breakroom if he wasn’t out of the lab, and once or twice a week, she’d go over to his place for dinner. It’s her last day of training before she’ll jump into the Graveyard shift. And unbeknownst to her, she’s got two days off to prepare for her life to be changed… forever. 

She’d cleared her physical, passed her psychological evaluation, certified in gun safety, and had been given a copy of her mentor’s name, contact information, and schedule for the next month by none other than Jimmy himself. She held her breath when she’d been handed her paper, and quickly ran her eyes over the text.

‘Gilbert Grissom, CSI III’ is the only thing she reads, and her jaw drops. 

“I thought-” She starts talking quickly, stopping Tadero in his tracks. He turns to face her. “I thought Grissom was Days,” she says with confusion laced in her voice. “I’m Graveyard,” she holds up the paper, insinuating there’s a mistake. 

“January 26th is his first night on Graveyard… meaning it’s your first night on Graveyard.”

She closes her mouth, trying to suppress the excitement she feels inside. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, folds the paper carefully, and sticks it into her pocket. All of this time, he had kept it a secret from her. There was an immense sense of comfort knowing she’d be following him around, but also some apprehension. She’d only want to make him proud, to catch on quickly and show him how eager she was to learn. 

But they’d have to be careful.

And she’d expect nothing less than for him to remain utterly professional from the moment he’d clock in until the second they clocked out. 

She’s pulled out of her thoughts by David calling out to her, asking her once more if she’d accompany the rest of the group to celebrate. She weighs the options in her head, knows Gil won’t get off of work for a few more hours, and decides to go. She doesn’t have time to stop by his office to let him know, so she leaves. 

They all meet up at a bar on the outskirts of the Strip, David holding the door open for her as she walks through. The rest of the group are already nursing their beers, all of them seated at a round table off in the back, away from everyone else. 

“What are you drinking? I’ll buy this round,” he asks, stopping her from joining the rest. 

“I’ll just take a water,” she says dryly, and he shrugs. 

An hour or two flies by, and she’s actually having a good time. But when she glances down at her watch, David notices, and smirks.

“You got somewhere more important to be,” he asks, keeping his voice low so the others don’t hear him. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears, reluctantly smiles. Where she wants to be is at Gil’s, but she shakes her head and sips at her water.

“No, just tired.”

–

She pulls her car into the familiar spot, parking next to him and shutting off the engine. She can see from his window that his lights are still on, and knows he’s awake. Climbing up the stairs, she comes to his front door and knocks twice.

It takes him no time at all to answer the door, and when he does, he grins. 

“So were you going to tell me you moved to Graveyard or was I supposed to find out by myself,” she asks, letting him pull her into the living room. He shrugs, takes her jacket, and she heads into his kitchen. He follows silently, watching as she opens his fridge to find a few containers of left-overs. “How’d you manage that,” she asks, popping the food into the microwave to heat. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter opposite of her, satisfied with how comfortable she’s grown in his presence. 

“They were going to offer Michael a level three, but on Graveyard.”

She rolled her eyes at the mention of the other man. 

“I took his position in exchange,” he explains, waiting for her reaction. He knew he wouldn’t have to explain why he did it. The microwave sounds off, and she makes no move to retrieve the food. Instead, she smiles, closes the distance between them, and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, then to his lips, and rests her head against his chest as she embraces him. 

She falls against his body, letting the exhaustion of a long day take over, and she closes her eyes when she feels his arms wrap around her waist, his hands clasped together on her lower back.

“Thank you.” 

This heart beat is strong and loud in her ear, and it nearly puts her to sleep. The feeling of his lips pressing against the top of her head and his hand gently rubbing at her back wakes her up. Slowly, she moves away from him, grabs the food from the microwave, and joins him on the couch. 

She eats in silence next to him, crossing her legs on his couch as she watches whatever is playing on his television. And when she’s done eating, she moves to wash her used dishes in his sink, and puts them away when she’s dried them off. Her shoes had been kicked off a while ago, so she crawls back onto the couch, pulls the same wool throw he’d given her on New Year’s, and settles against him. 

He reaches over to turn off the lamp next to him, the only light now coming from the television that casts them and the walls around them in a bright glow. She rests her head against his arm, and sighs when he readjusts the blanket to cover her fully. One of her own arms is trapped between their bodies, and the other is draped around his waist. 

She feel so small and warm against him, and his left arm comes down to wrap around her back, holding her closer to him. He glances down at her, sees her eyes are already closed, and can’t fight the urge to press another kiss to the top of her head. Her breathing evens out, and within minutes, she’s asleep in his arms. 

The rerun of ‘Hunter’ suddenly isn’t the most interesting thing in his living room. She hasn’t spent the night at his place yet, but it was starting to look promising. But their relationship was still new and in the beginning stages, so he wanted to be cautious… not overly-eager to get her to stay over. He wondered if they’d ever make it to the stage where she spent so much time here, that she wondered why she was even paying for another place. 

‘Whoa, boy. She’s been your girlfriend for three weeks. Simmer,’ he hears a voice in his head say. 

He knew, though, that he’d never get enough of her. There wasn’t such a thing as spending too much time with her, because he’d always want to be near her. He wasn’t so naive to know it wouldn’t happen from time to time, getting split up on shifts to work different scenes, her having to go back to her apartment for some personal time, things like that. But he hoped that she only felt the same way, wanting to spend a majority of her free time with him. 

He smiles when he feels her tighten her grip around his waist, nestling her face more into his arm. 

Glancing at the clock hanging up on his wall, the time reads almost one-fifteen in the morning. 

Another perk of being her mentor, would be having the same schedule until he deemed her ready for the field. And who knew how long that would take. All of these mutual days off together were a blessing and he only hoped people wouldn’t raise too much suspicion. But then again, he really didn’t care what other people thought. 

He knows he’ll have to go to either Ecklie or Tadero with news of their relationship, but it still didn’t seem like the time, and he wanted Catherine to be on board. So until she gives him the green light, he knows he’ll have to keep things discrete at work, and try not to touch her too much. 

“Hey,” he says softly, gently prying himself away from her. “Why don’t you take the bed,” he offers innocently, afraid she’ll grow sore from her current position. All she can manage is a nod, and he turns off the television, then helps her up from the couch. 

She follows him tiredly into the bedroom, and he disappears into his bathroom, retrieving an extra toothbrush. 

“Bought a two-pack,” he explains, motioning for her to take the never-used toothbrush. She does, places a warm hand on his chest, and moves into the bathroom. He suddenly hears the muffled water of the shower pouring against the tiles. He sucks in a breath at the thought of her naked only a few feet away from him. He tries to keep himself busy, folding back the sheets of his bed, turning on the small lamp, turning the central heat off, finding pajamas for himself, finding something for her to sleep in. 

Why was he so nervous? Couples were supposed to do this; sleep over at each other’s places. But this was their first time, and he wanted things to be perfect. 

When he hears the water cut off, he gulps. Would she put on the same clothes? He doubted it. Surely, she wouldn’t walk out naked. Which only left one other option.

The door swings open, and steam pours from the bathroom. She’s wrapped in a white towel, her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. Her face has been scrubbed clean of makeup, and her tiny feet pad against his carpeted bedroom. 

He hands her the smallest shirt and pajama pants he owns, and watches as she turns her back to him. He’s expecting her to walk back into the bathroom to change, but as he takes his spot on the bed, his jaw drops as she lets the towel fall from her body, her standing in only a pair of black underwear. 

Her toned back, bare as the day she was born, screams at him, begging him for his attention. There’s a few beads of water that have escaped the towel, that threaten to trail down her   
flawless skin. One of his hands clutch at the bedspread, his knuckles turning white. She pulls the shirt over her head, the hem of it stopping high on her thigh, and leaves the pajama pants on his dresser. 

She moves to turn off the light in the bathroom, and takes her spot in his bed. He settles himself in, as well, turning off the lamp next to him. He’s got the left side, and she’s got the right. The room is dark, and growing cold, and he reaches out for her, pulling her closer to him. She sighs in content, allowing him to draw her into his space. He’s so warm, and she feels so safe in his arms; nothing like when she falls asleep in her own bed, half-asleep in anticipation that some Las Vegas lunatic decides to break into her home. 

He lay on his back, his eyes trained on the ceiling above. Her head fits perfectly in the space between his shoulder blade and his neck. They lay together in his bed, no words spoken, and he can’t help but feel at peace. She’s warm and soft against him, and he’d do anything to keep her here forever. 

–

Even after all the time they’ve spent together, he’s still a mystery to her. She watches as he crouches down to get closer to the dead body in front of them, and she stands back to watch him. He’s slow, careful, meticulous. All he does is tilt his head to the side, purses his lips, and then moves back beside her. 

“First thing. Observe the scene,” he says, motioning to the space around them. It’s not much, in some dark alley that has a dead-end. Her eyes scan the brick walls, covered in dirt and grime, the concrete, the blood that’s pooled around the body, then on him. He’s so professional and distant at crime scenes, you would’ve never known he was currently in a romantic relationship with her. And she knows it’s for the best, but there’s still a slight sting when he doesn’t place his hand on her lower back, when he doesn’t pull her closer in the cold weather, when he doesn’t give her any second glances. 

They spend their night processing the scene together. He teaches her how to take impressions of footprints, how to carefully fingerprint surfaces, how to bag evidence, and she listens intently as he interviews the suspects. 

It’s the first crime scene together, and although he’s got a lot to show her, he keeps it simple. He does most of the work, knowing that they’ll solve it by the morning. But she surprises him, follows his line of thinking, takes it upon herself to look into leads… and it’s the first time, ever, in the Las Vegas Crime Lab history, that a new graduate solves their first case… on the first night. 

They make a dangerous team, and everyone recognizes it. 

And as the last few minutes of their first shift together near closer, he catches her in the layout room. She’s by herself, and as his eyes fall on her, he’s never been more proud. She looks up when she feels his eyes on her, and smiles.

“Hey,” she says softly, a hint of exhaustion playing out on her face. She was used to working night shifts, but this type of work was mentally draining, as well. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed… with a certain someone next to her. 

“Good work tonight,” he says, weary of other listeners. 

“Thanks,” she says thoughtfully, whatever it was she had been working on suddenly not important to her anymore. “You’re a good teacher,” she says sincerely, moving to catalog the rest of the evidence from their case. 

He gives her the boyish grin, the one she’s grown to love, and her heart swells.

“How about breakfast?”

–

Valentine’s Day had never been important to her, and he didn’t seem like the type to celebrate it, either. It’s a Saturday night, and as the sun is starting to set, is when she makes it to the lab. Pulling her jacket on, she gets out of the car, deposits her things in the locker room, and makes her way to the break room. She needs a cup of coffee, and now. 

Her eyes fall on a beautiful arrangement of flowers perched in the middle of the table, her passing female coworkers admiring them as they walk by. And it’s none other than Michael who’s sitting at the table, a smirk on his face. 

Gil’s not far behind her, coffee on his mind as well, and hears the whole exchange. 

“Some creep from the strip club drop these off?” It’s a low blow, but Catherine sneers. 

“There really hasn’t been many creeps since you stopped going,” she deals back, making Grissom turn his back to secretly grin. She leans over the table, fingering the small card that’s tied to the vase. 

‘To Catherine.’ is all it says. 

More people from Graveyard have fluttered into the room, and have taken notice to Catherine and her flowers. 

“Boyfriend,” one of the other girls asks, curiously. Catherine’s eyes quickly run over Gil’s back, and feels her face slightly grow warm from all the attention. 

“Just some cute boy from California I’ve been seeing,” she explains, throwing everyone off the scent. 

Grissom’s smirk grows wider as he leaves the room.

The people here thought he was from Minneapolis. After all this time.


	8. No Gettin' Over Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turns the story to a 'Mature' rating! Thanks for all the kudos and views! You guys keep me going. I won't lie; writing this chapter made me blush. Hardcore. But I hope you all enjoy, and I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes!

Her birthday sneaks up on him. March 26th. A Thursday. She was now 28 years old. They had been working tirelessly, different schedules, but by some divine miracle, they both had her birthday night off. Their plans had been made in advance; she’d sleep the majority of the day, wake up to get herself ready, and he’d pick her up for a night out on the town, per her request. He wasn’t particularly keen on going downtown, or into public in general, but she was worth it; especially if it made her happy. 

She wakes late in the afternoon, brews a pot of coffee, and hops into the shower. She had long picked out her outfit, a tight-fitting black dress with bell sleeves and a v-neck. It was cute, simple, and perfect for their little celebration. She curls her hair slightly, puts on her makeup, checks her watch, and knows Gil will be arriving shortly.

Hearing a knock at the door, she checks her reflection in the mirror hanging near her bed one last time, before moving to answer it. She can hear the muffled music next door, can feel the coldness of the night seeping through the crack of the door, and something weary passes over her. But she opens the door. And regrets it instantly. 

Her ex-boyfriend, Eddie Willows, stands before her. 

With his hands in his pockets, and with a beaten puppy look. Seeing him nearly takes the breath from her lungs, but for all the wrong reasons. She clutches the handle of the door, refusing to open it any further. She catches the way his eyes travel down her body, taking in her outfit, and can only guess what’s going through his mind. 

“Well you look beautiful,” he speaks first, his voice sending a wave of nausea straight to the pit of her stomach. Her crime lab issued gun was tucked away in her night stand, her corded phone hanging up on the kitchen wall. All she could do was stand her ground and hope that Gil was close to arriving. She doesn’t know what to say to him, not having seen him in months, and their last exchange not being particularly friendly. “Are you going to invite me in,” he asks with a smug look, causing her to grimace. 

At a loss for words, unable to come up with some lame excuse, she decides to just tell him the truth. 

“I was just about to leave,” she says, shuffling uncomfortably in her spot. His eyebrows raise in interest. 

“Going out?” She feels as if she’s being interrogated, and she only prays that he won’t follow her and Gil. But something else passes over her, and she stands a little taller. It was none of his god damned business what she did, or where she went; she was done with all of that. 

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. She doesn’t want to tell him where they’re going, just wants him to leave. And that’s when she hears him, clearing his throat behind Eddie. Her eyes widen a little in relief, and she pulls the door back to reveal Gil. Her ex-boyfriend turns at the sound, his wild blue eyes scanning Grissom’s face. 

She suddenly has trouble swallowing the lump stuck in her throat. She hadn’t told Gil about her ex-boyfriend, and this wasn’t the way she had wanted to go about it. The two men are roughly the same height, but Eddie has a few pounds on him. 

“Can we help you,” Eddie’s voice carries over the muffled music coming from next door. Gil doesn’t flinch, doesn’t bat an eye at Eddie’s rude remark, and only points to Catherine.

“I’m here for her,” he says calmly, causing Eddie’s head to turn back to her. She doesn’t take her eyes off of Gil, refusing to give Eddie anymore of her attention. 

“What the hell, Cath?!”

“Go home, Eddie.” She doesn’t trust herself with any more words, afraid of Gil seeing just how upset Eddie’s presence had made her… on her birthday, of all days. Picking up her overnight bag from the floor, she pushes past Eddie and locks up her apartment, before stepping ahead of Gil… putting distance between herself and Eddie. She doesn’t wait for Gil, doesn’t give a glance back, before advancing down the staircase towards Gil’s car. 

Taking out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, Gil watches as Eddie brings one to his lips, cups his hand around it, and lights it. Blowing smoke up into the night air, he gives Gil another look-over. 

“I guess she’s moved on, huh,” he says coldly, pushing his back up against the concrete wall. And it finally clicks in Gil’s head; Eddie was more… what he had envisioned Catherine going after. He had a strong jaw, dark hair, bright blue eyes, gave off the ‘bad boy’ vibe that girls these days were finding hard to ignore. He looked like he was capable of bad things. Gil didn’t like him one bit. 

He knows it’s not his place, knows he shouldn’t get in the middle of it, but Catherine’s safety was his priority… and he didn’t care who’s toes he stepped on in the process. 

“Don’t come back here,” is all Gil says, his eyes never moving from Eddie’s face, studying every last detail. The other man nods his head once, in disappointment, and from what… Gil doesn’t know. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, taking another drag from the cigarette.

–

She’s quiet for the remainder of the night, which he knows is very unlike her. She sips at her wine, picks at her food, wants to leave for his place earlier than he’d expect. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask about what happened at her apartment, and silently drives them back to his townhouse. This isn’t how she had wanted to spend her birthday, and he gets that much. As he unlocks his door, he wonders if he should continue with what he had planned for her. She moves through his living room, dropping her overnight bag in his bedroom, and stops dead in her tracks when she returns. 

A small white cake, decorated with an assortment of strawberries, blueberries, and blackberries sits on his kitchen island. There’s a single red candle in the middle, it’s flame casting a shadow throughout his kitchen. He looks up from the cake slowly, sees her standing there. 

“Happy birthday,” he says softly, offering a small smile. 

A wave of emotions hits her, from memories of how awful her life and past relationship with Eddie had been, to the tough months that followed… her finding a new apartment, working extra shifts to make a decent living, starting school, a second job at the crime lab… meeting Gil. She knows in that instant, that she never wants to go back to that life, that she wants this, her and Gil… for as long as she can have it.

She’s thankful that in the dark kitchen, he can’t see the redness in her eyes, the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. His tiled kitchen is cold against her bare feet, and she realizes they’re carrying her towards him. She can see him lick his lips nervously, his mouth opening slightly to speak, but her hands come up to frame his face, her palms hot against his cheeks. She pulls him down, presses her lips to his. He welcomes the assault eagerly, kisses her back with matched passion. He tastes like the scotch he had ordered at her favorite restaurant, her own tongue pushing past his own. She’s going so fast, that he has to push her gently against the kitchen island; his hands firmly planted on her hips, fingers digging into the flesh above her hip bones.

The blame lies within the two of them, waiting to finally do this. 

He can feel himself responding to their kiss and her chest is heaving, switching her weight from one leg to the other… and he smirks when he realizes why. Months of pent up sexual tension is fueling this kiss, and when she gently bites down on his bottom lip, he loses all control. 

She’s light as a feather, and he had never really considered himself especially strong, but he’s hoisting her up onto the marble counter top with ease. She quickly leans off to the side to blow out her birthday candle, red wax dripping onto the white frosting, and wastes no time snaking her hand to the back of his neck, guiding his lips to the crease of her neck. The sensation of his hot tongue against her skin makes her head fall back in blinding pleasure, a soft moan escaping her lips. If he spends any more time on this particular spot, she’ll have a hickey in the morning, and he wonders if it isn’t all that bad of an idea. 

The hem of her dress has ridden up her thighs, the material bunched and stretched right before the place he wants to be the most. Her hands are gripping his biceps, fingers running over toned muscles. She leaves a trail of fire wherever she touches him, and his hands join together at the small of her back, pushing her closer to him. She’s nearly hanging off the edge of the counter, but he steps between her spread thighs, one of his hands leaving her back to claim the side of her face. His thumb presses against her cheek bone, his fingers almost able to grip the back of her head. 

It’s the first time he’s ever been this possessive, and it takes the air straight from her lungs. He pulls her back for another kiss, his free hand trailing up her exposed thigh, over the junction of her hip, feels the lace thong against his skin, and palms her waist. 

They both moan into each other’s mouths. 

She moves for his shirt, pulling it free from where it was tucked in his trousers. Her own hands find the cut of muscle trailing down his abdomen, and she squeezes. He reaches down, hooking his hands under each of her thighs, pulls them high until they’re wrapped around his waist. He breaks their kiss only for a second to look down between them, earning a glimpse of her near translucent thong, and his eyes close to concentrate. 

“Catherine,” he says, his voice dark and low. Her lips are swollen, her face flushed, and she looks like a goddess; he wants to treat her as such. 

She hops off from the counter, grabs his hand, laces their fingers, and pulls him down the hallway to his bedroom. His heart is racing a million times a minute, it seems. And he can’t believe his is all happening. 

He stumbles towards the bed, the back of his knees hitting the edge of the mattress, but remains standing. Grabbing at his shirt, she helps him pull it over his head, tosses it to the ground. Her eyes scan over his chest, his slightly defined pecs, a not so flat abdomen… and she licks her lips. She’s never, in her life, gone for someone like Gil… so reserved, so quiet, but there’s something about him that makes her so grateful she’s taken the chance on him. 

Her fingers find his belt buckle, and start to slide the leather from around his waist. And when he feels the button give-way on his pants, he inhales deeply. He stands before her now, in only his boxer briefs, straining against his lower belly and the material of his underwear. She stills when she sees him for the first time, grins. 

Before she can shed the remainder of his clothing, though, she feels his fingers at her back, grasping the zipper of her dress and tugging. She helps him, shrugging the dress off and letting it pool at her feet. She stands before him in a black strapless bra, a black thong, and he feels faint. The room is spinning, and it doesn’t help when she bends at the waist, slipping her fingers under the waistband of his boxers, tugging until they’re off. 

Her mouth falls open at his size, taking in his girth and length, and slowly falls to her knees. She can feel the fibers of the carpet dig into her skin as her hands glide over his knees, up his thighs. He’s gripping the edge of the mattress, trying to keep himself from tangling his hands in her hair. Words are stuck in his throat, he can’t find a way to make her stop, wanting to give her pleasure first. 

Slowly, her fingers wrap around his hardened member one by one, until she’s stroking gently, up and down. He’s burning in her hand, his skin on fire and stretched so tight, she can feel him pulsing against her palm. She looks up through hooded lids, her tongue resting on her bottom lip, as she studies for any signs of disapproval. When she gets none, she lowers her mouth, her tongue coming out to flick at the head of his cock. He lets out a shaky breath, one hand finally tangling itself in her hair, as he gently coaxes her onto his erection. Her lips wrap around him first, and his heart feels like it’s about to give up. 

“Catherine,” he says again, trying to get her attention, but she’s dead set on this. She’s been wanting to do this for too long, and dammit, they were going to go through with it. No interruptions. Her tongue is flat against him, slides down his length, sweeps against him when she bottoms out and feels him at the back of her throat, and slowly rises. “Jesus,” he stutters, holding himself back, trying not to buck up into her mouth. 

She licks, sucks, hollows her mouth, takes him in deeper than she’s ever been able to do, and he’s not quite sure how long he’ll last if she keeps this up. She’s proud of the effect she has on him, vowing to herself that she’ll always want to be the one to make him feel this way. Finally, at one of his tugs against her arms, she lifts from her knees. Her lips are once again swollen, wet with saliva.

Looking down at him, she grins when she sees what kind of state he’s in, and reaches behind her to unclasp her bra. Years of dancing naked on a stage had taught her not to be self-conscious or embarrassed about her body, but to instead embrace her sexuality. And it was clear he wasn’t used to his intimate partners behaving this way. His mouth is wide open, in awe of her beauty, and when she reaches for her thong, he lunges at her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he spins them and pins her to the mattress. She spreads her legs once more, but before he rests between them, hooks his thumbs under the lace and pulls it off. Her thong flies somewhere with the rest of their abandoned clothes. 

Laying before him naked, he grabs a hold of one of her legs, pulls her down the mattress, closer to him. She grins, aching to be touched. Arching against the bed, he takes the hint, and lowers his lips to the inside of her knee. He kisses his way down her thigh, paying the same attention to the other leg, and hovers above her most sensitive area. She doesn’t realize it, but after a few seconds of holding her breath in anticipation, she finds herself locking her fingers into his curly hair, guiding him right where she wants him. 

But he fights her off, crawls back up her body, and presses a gentle kiss to her cheek. Her grip relaxes a bit on his hair, and although he doesn’t say the words, she can see in his eyes just how much she means to him… how much he loves her. She opens her mouth, to say the words aloud, but she’s stopped short when his tongue circles one of her nipples. He cups the other one in his hand, gently squeezing as he scrapes his teeth against her flesh. She can feel her wetness trickle down the underside of her ass, onto his bed sheets, and she grabs at his sides.

“God,” is her breathless reply, her voice barely above a whisper. She can feel her skin pimple with anticipation of what’s to come, and a shiver passes over her. His body, covering hers, provides enough heat to melt away her shivers, and his lips are suddenly trailing down her chest, down her torso, over her belly, and stop. 

His hands softly push her legs open, exposing her completely. He stares down in awe, slowly descends, and tortures her one last time. She can feel his breath against her heated skin, anticipates his touch, and just before she explodes with frustration, his tongue comes out to lick her- from the bottom, up her slit, circles around her clit. She nearly comes off the bed. 

“Oh my God,” she says, again. And he grins. He can’t believe this is happening, for one, and he could die a happy man now. 

Pushing her down into the mattress, his hands are firm against her hips now, to keep her still. She lets out a large, shaky breath as his tongue slowly flicks her sensitive bundle of nerves, over and over again, slowly increasing speed. Her thighs tense around his head, and he feels her almost go rigid. Suddenly, he feels a small tug of his hair, feels her fingers locking into his curls, and looks up at her. 

“Come up here,” she says, breathlessly. 

Climbing up her body, he settles lightly on top of her, afraid of hurting her. But she’s reaching for him, pulling him down for another heated kiss. And when she reaches down for him, he stills against her. He doesn’t have any protection, not planning for any of this to happen. And the last thing he wants to do is pressure her into something she doesn’t want to do. So when their kiss ends, she tilts her head in confusion at his hesitation. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He pauses, tries to get his heart to slow down, has to clear his throat. 

“I uh.. I don’t have any...”

She realizes what he’s trying to convey, and relaxes back into the mattress, a small smile on her lips. Anyone else would have tried to convince her that protection wasn’t needed, would make some lame excuse as to why he couldn’t wear a condom… It had always been a deal breaker for her, except with Eddie, but that had been a mistake. 

“It’s fine,” she promises, watching over his face to read the emotion playing out on his face. Relief, then concern. She laughs. “I have an IUD.”

He doesn’t really know what she’s talking about, and doesn’t ask, because before he can even comprehend what she’s saying, she’s pulling him back down for another kiss. Taking himself in one hand, he positions himself at her entrance, unable to hold back any longer. He coats the tip of his erection with her wetness, and she moans into their kiss upon feeling him. He’s almost certain he’s never been this hard in his life, and if he waits any longer, he feels as if his head will explode. 

Slowly, but steadily, he pushes into her, and grabs at one of her legs to hike it over his hip, deepening the angle. Their kiss breaks off, her mouth parted in pure bliss, and she presses her face into the side of his neck. With her lips against his skin, she can feel his bounding pulse, and when he stills against her, there’s a satisfying ache; on the verge of painful, actually, but that quickly fades as she stretches to accommodate him, and suddenly she’s ready for him to move. 

They work up a sweat, even in the coldness of his bedroom, and she’s suddenly pushing him onto his back, frowning at their loss of contact. Quickly, she straddles his lap, and slowly sinks onto him, savoring the way he feels inside of her. It’s a whole new sensation, with her on top, and he lets his head roll to the side at the feeling, his hands clutching at her hips. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says jokingly, his voice deeper than she’s ever heard before. She grins, beginning to move at a torturous pace.

“I promise I’ll be gentle,” she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She slides the length of him, all the way until he’s nearly falling out of her, but then descends and they both shudder. She’s not quite sure where he starts and she ends, and it feels so good, that she never wants to stop. With every descent, she pauses, grinds against him, and she can feel something slowly uncoil deep within her. 

Looking up at her, her face twisted in concentration and pleasure, he wants to tell her just how beautiful she is. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment with words, and he feels himself nearing an orgasm. He’s surprised when she gently grabs his hand, tugging it towards where they’re joined, and gets the hint. He uses his thumb to find her swollen clit. 

“Don’t stop.” Her words are low and rough in his ear, and he’s starting to see stars. 

“Catherine,” he pleas, and her name on his lips is enough to send her over the edge. She slows her movements, and he lifts her up for one last thrust. Her eyes widen, she goes stiff against him, and when she feels him pulsing inside of her, she leans down and captures his lips in a kiss.


	9. You're All I've Got Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone!!! Everyone who's reading, commenting, leaving kudos! Thanks so much!!! Hope you're all enjoying! Sorry for any grammar mistakes!

It’s the end of May, and the heat is starting to slowly creep back. She spends most, if not all, of her time at his place. She slept there after shift, ate meals in his kitchen, showered in his bathroom, lounged on his couch on her day off. And though she absolutely loved it, part of her missed her own space. She missed her bed, her static radio, her coffee pot that only worked when plugged in a certain way. 

So one evening, while preparing for their shift crammed in his bathroom, she tilts her head as she watches him fasten his belt around his waist. He was shirtless. He catches her eyes in the mirror, grins at her, and she grins back. He steps up behind her, his chest coming into contact with her back, and he reaches around her for his toothbrush. 

“What do you say… after work, we head back to my place?” It only takes him a second to nod his head, putting his free hand on her waist as he brushes his teeth.

“Sure,” he answers. Truthfully, he knew that she was missing her own place, and he didn’t blame her.

“Besides… it’s been some time since I’ve been there. Hopefully it hasn’t burnt down,” she jokes, and he chuckles behind her. 

So when the time comes, he packs a bag, they take his car to work, and she goes into the building first. They still weren’t telling people about their relationship, and she was okay with that. But as she passes Tadero’s office, she bites her lip, and wonders if Gil has made the leap to tell their supervisor. She hasn’t signed any paperwork, which tells her he hasn’t. And not that it was a big deal to her, but she knew what kind of trouble they could get into if he didn’t do it soon. 

She’s starting a pot of coffee in the empty break room when she hears a knock on the door frame. She looks over her shoulder, and fully turns when she sees Tadero standing behind her.

“Hey, you have a minute,” he asks, and she nods. Silently gulping, there’s a million things running through her head; had she fucked up a crime scene, destroyed a piece of evidence? She follows him back to his office, and he motions for her to take a seat. “It seems you’ve made friends rather quickly,” he says, effectively confusing her. He lets a moment of silence pass between them, before pointing to a set of stapled papers in front of him. “I have a declaration of intent, on my desk… signed by Gil Grissom.”

She squirms in her seat, her heart doing double-time. She had half-expected him to keep their relationship under wraps for her sake; she had a reputation here… where he was still a ghost. 

“Is that so,” she asks, leaning a bit forward to see for herself. But Tadero snatches the papers and holds it up for her to see. And sure enough, as clear as day, his signature is at the bottom of the paper. 

“Catherine… what’s going on,” he asks, a hint of disappointment evident in his voice. She knew Jimmy was just trying to look out for her; he always had, ever since he had stumbled in on her taking her clothes off for a living. “What is this,” he says, nodding towards the papers again. 

She’s slightly caught off-guard by his disappointment, had thought that he’d be happy for her if anything. 

“We’re together,” she confirms, straightening up in her chair, and feeling herself go on the defense. “And we’re going through the motions, so I don’t see what the big deal is here.” 

“What the big deal- Catherine, you’ve only met the man!” 

Her jaw is tight, and she wants nothing more than to snap back at the older man. Who in the hell did he think he was? Her fucking father? 

“I used to take my clothes off for a living… for men I’ve never seen before in my life.” The mention of her past profession makes him squirm in his seat. “And this bothers you?” She makes a move to get up from her chair, to leave his office and get to work, but his voice stops her.

“Catherine. I’m just… I’m just looking out for you,” he says apologetically, letting his head fall slightly, then hands her the papers and a pen. She’s tempted to snatch them out from his hands, but she gently accepts them… and with shaking hands. Signing her name above the printed letters: Catherine Flynn. 

“I can look after myself, thanks,” she says softly, refusing to stay here a second longer. She gathers herself, and her bag, and heads for the locker room. She stops in her tracks when Gil comes into view, sitting in front of his own locker and collecting himself before their shift officially starts. Slowing her pace as to not make her presence known, she watches him. 

Roughly nine months ago, he was nothing more to her than a new face, a new coworker. She had always found it effortless on her part to make friends with new people and he had been no exception. Other people had found him weird… strange, but she had saw more in him than other people did. He was kind, very intelligent, quiet… thoughtful. It was one of the most meaningful relationships she suspects she’s ever had… and it’s while watching him, that she realizes her feelings run deeper than she originally thought.

He suddenly looks her way, feeling her eyes on him, and smiles when he sees her. She finds herself smiling back at him, wanting nothing more than to close and lock the door behind her, pull him up from the bench, and kiss him senseless. 

–

It’s the end of shift when she heads to his office. Nothing about it strikes suspicion with the others, not even when she closes the door. He knows it’s her without even picking up his head, but at the sound of his door locking, he does look up. 

She doesn’t say a word, just slowly stalks around his desk, until she’s standing close. He turns, in his chair, to face her. It helps that he’s kept all the blinds closed, she thinks, as she bends at the waist. His eyes widen in surprise as she lowers her face, pressing her lips to his in a sweet kiss. 

His face between her two hands, he’s pleasantly surprised that she’s kissing him, so much that he’s slow to respond. Just as she moves to pull away from him, guilty for putting him in such a compromising position, she feels his hand slide against her waist. He pulls her back down, and she laughs into his mouth as she tumbles closer to him. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, and she moans against him as his tongue makes contact with hers.

“I think we have some celebrating to do tonight.” She makes herself comfortable against his side, knowing fully well she’ll never be able to do this again for a long time. 

“Do we,” he asks, giving her his full attention. She gently breaks away from him, moving around to sit in front of his desk.

“Tadero pulled me into his office earlier tonight. One guess as to why.”

That boyish grin graces his face and she absolutely can’t wait to get him back to her apartment in a few minutes. He knows exactly what she’s talking about, and is slightly relieved for it all to be over. It had been nerve-racking alone to ask Jimmy for Catherine to join Dayshift months ago, but going in to confess their little secret was torture.

They spend the rest of their shift in his office, until it’s time to clock out and head to her place. They leave together this time, side by side. The drive back to her apartment is quiet, with her hand in his, but full of tension… the kind that was making her shift uncomfortably in his passenger seat. Her excitement slowly fades, as they pull up to her building. 

Something seems off, and her suspicions are confirmed as they ascend the staircase. Her door is ajar, nearly broken from the frame. And when she slowly pushes it open, her face falls in defeat.

Clothes were scattered about, pieces of broken glass crunch under her feet as she moves through her small living room. The kitchen table flipped, one of her chairs broken into pieces. Her kitchen trashed, her coffee pot smashed and broken in the sink, the remains of old coffee grounds scattered about the floor. 

Gil stands in the doorway, watching solemnly as she moves through her apartment. The rational part of him wants to tell her to make sure she has her valuables, to check for her personal and financial records, but it’s when she sees the smashed glass that once housed her butterfly that makes him swallow those words.

Carefully, she picks it up, brushes the broken glass away from the stiff butterfly and looks up at him with sad eyes. He feels a lot of things in this moment, but the anger was hard to swallow. He decides then and there that he doesn’t want her coming back here, ever again. It doesn’t matter to him how many more months on her lease, or how much it would cost him to break her contract.

“Get your things. Whatever is important.” His voice bounces off the walls in the quietness of her living room.

From where she sits on the edge of her bed, she looks up at him. 

He doesn’t know what else to do, except step over the broken glass, towards her closet where he knows he’ll find something… anything to put her belongings in. He places an old, black bag that’s still got pieces of glitter clinging to the material. She hasn’t used this bag in years.

She watches as he picks pieces of clothing up from her floor, shaking them free of any shards of glass, and carefully folding them into her bag. She swallows hard, places her broken gift into the bag as well, and helps him with the remainder of her clothes. She moves towards her closet, rummages around until she’s coming back with a tattered folder, one containing important things. It’s the last thing that gets placed in the bag before he zips it up, hoists it over his shoulder, and ushers her out of the apartment.

–

He unlocks the door for her, allows her in first as he carries their bags over his shoulder. He dumps them in his bedroom, where she follows. He stands there, unsure of what to do. It takes no time at all for her to walk into his embrace, his arms instinctively going around her. She relaxes against him, lets her eyes close, and the exhaustion takes over.

She gently breaks away from him, guides him to the bathroom, where she turns on the shower. Steam slowly fills the small space, and the mirror fogs up as she starts to peel away her clothing. When all that’s left is her bra and underwear, she moves closer to him. Reaching for his jacket, she slips it past his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor behind him. Working the buttons through their holes on his shirt is next, until that slips to the floor too. At the sight of his bare chest, she inhales slowly. With trembling hands, she reaches for his belt. She’s able to unfasten it, and he looks down at her as she pulls it through the loops on his pants. 

Her fingers work on the button of his trousers, but his own hand comes up to lift her chin, tilting her head back. Her eyes drag up his body until she’s staring up at him. There’s so many things he wants to tell her in this moment; how much she absolutely means to him, how he’d do anything in his power to make sure she was safe, how much he loves her. Words don’t seem necessary though, so he grabs the back of her neck and pulls her closer to him, his lips descending on hers. She grabs hold of his arms, clutching at his biceps as the water continues to pour behind them. 

She pours everything she’s got into this kiss, every ounce of love and loyalty she has in her body, as the rest of their clothes fall away. He refuses to break their heated kiss as he pushes open the shower door, walking her into the shower until her back hits the slippery tile. His entire body presses against her, and she grips harder at his arms. It’s a wonderful sensation, the feeling of his tongue against hers as the warm water sprays over their heated skin. Her breasts are pressed against his chest, and his hands are everywhere; he can’t get enough of her. 

–

She closes the blackout curtains as he pulls back the covers on the bed. She slips in next to him, wearing one of his shirts that are too big. And as soon as her head hits the pillow, his arms slip around her and she falls into a slumber. 

Hours later, her eyes slowly open to the sun still in the sky. The bed is empty next to her, and she falls back against the mattress. Turning her head, she can see the alarm clock that reads 3:43 in the afternoon. She feels as if she’s slept for an hour at most, but still rolls out of bed. 

She pads into the kitchen, grateful that they’re both off tonight, and leans against the kitchen island. He hands her a cup of coffee, mixed with two sugars and one creamer; just how she liked it. 

“What time did you wake up,” she asks softly, sipping at the hot beverage. 

“About an hour ago,” he states, moving about his kitchen with his own cup of coffee. She wants so much to tell him about what happened last night, because she knows exactly who trashed her apartment, and she has a feeling he does, too. 

Her shoulders slump, and she wraps both hands around her coffee mug. 

“About last night-” She starts off, and he’s quiet. “Thank you,” she says softly. “For… being there.” She doesn’t quite know where to begin, with how to explain who Eddie is and why he’s doing the things he’s doing. So she just dives in. “You met Eddie… the night of my birthday.” He nods his head, to show her that he’s listening and that he’s following. “I met him a couple of years ago… while I was stripping.” The words feel vile, and they’re getting caught in her throat. “We dated for a while. He was a good guy… until he wasn’t.” 

He looks down at the ground, already haven formed an opinion on the other man the night of her birthday. If he was capable of all this destruction, he sure as hell didn’t want to find out what he was capable of with another human, much less, Catherine.

“You can’t go back there,” is all he says, shaking his head. He couldn’t ever live with himself if he let her go back, and something happen to her. 

“My lease isn’t up until the end of July. I can’t afford-”

“That doesn’t matter. I’ll pay for it,” he says, surely. “I’ll pay for all of it. I just… you can’t go back there, Catherine,” he says seriously. She swallows hard, nods. She knows she’ll have to look for a new apartment, but worried that she can’t afford anything more than what she has now. At least… not without working two jobs, anyway. “You can stay here until you find something new… if you want.”


	10. Don't Walk Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by Truly Lemonade Hard Seltzer, and rewatching season one of CSI. Sorry for any grammar mistakes. I love you all! :)

True to his word, he’s taken care of everything. He’s hired movers to put the rest of her belongings in a small storage unit just outside of Henderson. He was able to argue a way out of paying the fee for breaking her lease, threatening to report multiple citations that could effectively put the owner of the apartment complex out of business, or at the very least, lose a substantial amount of money. 

But other than that, they’ve been swamped at work, and she has very little time to search for a new apartment. She feels guilty, at first, watching as he places her nicer clothes onto coat-hangers, storing them up next to his own in his closet. She had learned her lesson with Eddie, never wanting to rely on another man to provide for her again. But as she watches him take caution with her clothes, she knows he’s nothing like Eddie, and now the guilt stems from not wanting to take advantage of his generosity. 

She was a big girl; had always been able to take care of herself, even when money was tight and survival came down to stripping. She remembers the night of her graduation, how she had vowed to never step food into another strip club, but never say never, she thinks sadly.

He watches as she flips through the newspapers every afternoon, perched at his kitchen island with a red pen and a cup of coffee. There’s only a couple of listing circled, he notices, and part of him hopes none of them work out. He wanted her here, was willing to take care of her- if she’d let him, but something told him she didn’t need a knight in shining armor. 

He accompanies her to all of the apartments she’s scheduled showings at. They’re all significantly nicer than her old place, but the price reflected it, and she’d always leave a bit disappointed every time. 

It’s not until the end of July that they both have another night off together, so he plans something special. While she’s out looking at more apartments, is when he makes the trip to a grocery store, purchasing everything to cook her favorite meal. He throws in a pricey bottle of red wine, one with a higher alcohol content, he notices- he’ll need it to give him the courage to ask her what he really wants to ask her after they’ve eaten dinner. 

He’s left the door unlocked while he unloads the groceries, and it’s shortly after he’s put everything in it’s respectful place that she comes walking through the door, slumping against the door in defeat and allowing her purse to fall from her arm. He looks up from where he stands in the kitchen.

“Any luck,” he asks, to which she shakes her head.

“Not much,” she says flatly, reaching for a glass to pour herself some water. And it’s all the convincing he needs to go through with his plan. She gulps down the water in no time, cleans the glass, and places it back into the cupboard. She’s content in the silence between them, grateful for the cool air of his apartment. Her eyes slip shut for a moment, craning her head from side to side. 

Apartment searching in the Las Vegas heat was not shaping out to be successful, or fun.

When she opens her eyes, he’s wringing a kitchen towel nervously between his hands.

She narrows her eyes.

“What,” she asks, straightening up against the counter, standing an arm’s width away from him. 

“Nothing,” he quickly retorts, amazed at how keen her behavior skills were becoming. She could read him like a book, and he considered himself a very closed-off person… most of the time.

“Mmm hmm,” she says skeptically, but with a grin on her face. Pushing herself away from the counter, she mumbles something about going to shower. And when he hears the water running, he turns around and gets to work. 

Her shower is long enough for him to slightly chill the wine, and to prep most of the dinner. Her hair is still dry, and pinned expertly on top of her head, when she comes out in a baggy shirt, one of the shoulders cut off, and a pair of leggings. He’s already got the two glasses of wine poured, and hands one to her upon seeing her. 

“A home cooked meal? What have I done to deserve this,” she asks, taking her normal spot on the high bar stool at his kitchen island. She sips at the wine, smiles when it hits her tongue, and hums her approval. 

“Good,” he asks, nodding towards the wine. She nods, taking another generous sip, and he chuckles. 

Her tongue comes out to sweep at a bit of wine that’s clinging to her bottom lip, and her eyes pass over Gil’s arms; how his sleeves had been rolled up just to the elbows. She watches as he expertly cuts through vegetables, then turns to saute them in a pan. 

“No, really,” she says, swirling the wine around in her glass. “What’s the occasion?”

He’s concentrating on the sizzling vegetables in the hot pan, but looks over his shoulder at her.

“I happen to like you, if you haven’t noticed.” That grin, along with the wine, warms her all over. 

“Oh, you like me, huh?”

“I do,” he nods his head, moves over to the fridge where he takes two, whole lobsters out. “Very much.”

They make effortless small talk as he cooks. He starts to feel the effects of the strong wine, especially without having much to eat today, and as he shucks the lobster tails, getting ready to poach them in a butter sauce. 

“Careful now, Wolfgang Puck,” she says, causing him to actually laugh aloud as he lowers the lobster tails into the pot. He doesn’t hear as she slips away from the bar stool, but feels a pair of arms slide around his torso, her glass of wine still in her right hand. This was what he had been searching for all along, it seemed. Someone to cook dinner with, someone to laugh with in his kitchen, someone to share a life with.

Barefoot, in his kitchen, arms around him, she rests her head against the side of his body. One of his free arms wraps around her as well, and he absentmindedly presses a kiss to the top of her head. It’s not much longer before she’s gently moving away from him, reaching up for two plates. 

He carries their plated dinner back to the kitchen island, where he helps her up onto the bar stool. When he’s situated himself, she’s holding up her glass of wine for a toast.

“To failed apartment searching,” she says playfully, touching her glass to his, before they both take sips. She sets her glass down, digs into her dinner, and hums her approval. “You know… if you lose interest in forensics, you could always become a chef.”

He nods in amusement, a mouth full of food. Their dinner is coming to an end, and his trouser pocket feels like it’s on fire. So when their plates are cleared, she pulls him to sit on the couch with her, but not before she pours them another glass of wine each and turns on his vinyl player. She falls back against the cushions, sighs heavily in content, and brings the wine glass to her lips. 

He taps nervously at his glass stem, then finally sets it down on the end table near him.

“I’ll be right back,” he says quietly, disappearing into his bedroom and leaving her clueless out in his living room. She watches with curious eyes, but he closes the bedroom door behind him. She wonders if something from their dinner hasn’t agreed with his stomach, and after a while, she nearly pushes herself up from the couch to go and check on him, concern outweighing the curiosity. But before she can get up, he’s walking back into the living room, and he’s got something with him. 

It’s a small, square box. It’s not wrapped, it doesn’t have a bow on it. 

Her eyebrows knit in confusion. 

He resumes his spot next to her on the couch, staring down at the gift in his hands before turning to her, and offering it up with a hopeful face. She accepts it slowly; the music that was once loud and clear, suddenly fading out and muffling as her own heartbeat fills her ears.

With shaking hands, she lifts the top of the white box, and despite how nervous she is, a smile comes to her face. It’s her old Christmas present, from last year… perfectly restored in a new glass frame, but as she picks it up from the box, she notices there’s a second frame underneath it. Each hand now holds a framed butterfly. She looks up at him, and he doesn’t miss a beat.

He explains that the second butterfly is the mate to the first, that it’s very common for the two of them to often be found together in the wild. She can’t seem to wipe the smile away from her face; he was a romantic. 

“I love them,” she says just above the music, setting them both down carefully into the box. She wants to say how much she loves him, but stops herself. Unsure if it’s from the wine or from the overwhelming emotions, she can feel the corners of her eyes grow wet. 

“I have… something else, too.”

She wipes at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand, and reels it all in. 

“If I would’ve known we were exchanging gifts, I would’ve gotten you something.” Her voice is on the verge of cracking. He shakes his head at the notion; she’d never have to get him anything… just her being here was enough. 

“I’ve been wanting to give you this for some time, and I can’t think of a more fitting time,” he starts, silently thanking himself for purchasing such strong wine. 

He can’t bare the suspense any longer, so he fishes the spare key from his pocket, and presents it to her. It only takes her a moment to realize what he’s offering. Relief was a close second to the excitement she was feeling. Maybe she hadn’t been as much of a burden as she’d originally thought. Most of her clothes and other personal items had already found their way into his home. What left was there to do except take him up on her offer?

“Gil, I… I can’t possibly-”

He presses the key into her palm, closes her fingers around it. 

She squeezes it in her hand for a second, then carefully places all of her gifts on the end table to her left. His eyes widen when she stalks closer to him, throwing a leg over his waist and straddling him against the couch. Her hands splay against either side of his neck, and she kisses him. 

Hard.

He grabs at her waist, to slow her down, but she’s hell-bent on this. 

His head is tilted back, from how aggressively she’s kissing him, and his growing erection is betraying his patience. When she feels him grow hard against her, she rolls her hips. His mouth parts, and she slips her tongue against his. He taste like wine, and no matter how deep their kiss runs, she can’t get enough. This is her best friend, her roommate, her boyfriend… she’s quite certain her soulmate. 

–

She wonders how long it’ll take their coworkers to find out that they’re dating and living together. She doesn’t really care of any one knows, but for his sake, hopes word doesn’t go around too fast. And as she passes up familiar faces in the hallway, she ducks her head from curious eyes. They’ve gone their separate ways at the elevator, him heading to his office and her heading to the locker room to save her things. 

David, her fellow newcomer to the graveyard, peeks his head into the room, hanging onto the door frame. He looks excited, a wide smile plastered to his face.

“You’re with me tonight.”

Her head pops up from the dufflebag in her lap, and she can’t help but smile back at his enthusiasm. Internally, she’s a bit panicked. Two fresh, level-one CSIs on their own? Surely, there was something in the handbook about this. But before she can say anything, he ducks back out of the room. 

Quickly, she saves her things, and heads straight to his office. She doesn’t even bother to close the door behind her. He looks up instantly.

“David and I are going out to a 419 near Winchester. The two of us. Alone.” He’s unsure of the issue, so he takes off his glasses.

“You’ll be fine,” he encourages, grasping at straws as to why she’s coming to him with this information. She’s been on her own for months, and had proven herself immensely. She inhales deeply, rethinks her situation. Maybe she was over-reacting. So, unconvinced, she nods at his words and backs out of his office. 

–

David slams the car door upon arriving to the scene, the sound echoing off into the distance. It’s dark, and eerie, and she shivers when the night air blows through her forensics jacket. He’s quick to survey the scene, logging things, taking pictures, making assumptions. She’s slow to follow, taking her time as Gil had taught her. 

He’s not talking to her, lost in his own thoughts and ways. The scene is taped off, so she ducks under the flapping tape to catch up with David. The crime scene kit is weighing her down a bit, and as she tries to readjust her hold on the metal handle, she loses track of her partner. 

She stops in the middle of the dark alleyway, contemplating dropping the kit right there and running off to find David. Surely, he couldn’t have ventured off far; around the corner maybe. She still had yet to lay her eyes on the dead body, which told her she still had a ways to go. She knows it’s irrational, but something tells her not to look behind her.

Adrenaline coursing through her body, she decides to continue on with her search for David. The sound of a second pair of footsteps are keen on her hearing, and she convinces herself that it’s just the echoing of her own steps.

‘You’ll be fine.’ His words play over and over in her head, and she tries her best to believe them. But then she can feel someone behind her, and her heart feels like it’s stuck in her throat. 

It all happens so fast; first, she’s letting the kit drop to the pavement, she spins with her hand poised on the handle of her crime-lab issued gun, but the assailant is much quicker… much stronger. 

“Don’t even think about it, bitch,” she hears the rough voice say, catching her off balance and knocking her back against the alley wall. She panics. She doesn’t want to die like this; in some dark alley, away from Gil, away from her friends, scared and alone. But she refuses to let that panic show in her face. She’d fight until her last breath, and that’s exactly what she does.

She can’t think, can’t form any words, can’t scream out for help. Not that it’d matter… David was too far away to hear her, anyway. She can feel something sharp pressing against her neck, can feel the burning splitting of skin as the blade cuts into her throat. 

Death by exsanguination, she thinks. Plenty of worse ways to go. 

She’s startled by the sudden sound of a gun discharging; once, twice, three times, four times… and then silence. 

–

It was ultimately Tadero who’d come to tell him. And in hindsight, he’d be forever thankful for it. 

Word had spread quickly that Catherine Flynn had been attacked at a crime scene, and had survived. She had been escorted back to the crime lab via ambulance after getting cleared by paramedics, and was sitting in the locker-room, itching to shower. 

He doesn’t run, not wanting to cause panic, but finds himself pushing slow counterparts out of his way to get to her. Everyone takes notice at how hasty he makes for the locker room. He doesn’t care if he’ll give them away, he doesn’t care what anyone has to say… he just needs to get to her, to make sure she’s okay. 

Surprisingly, she’s by herself. 

The detectives have come and gone, leaving her sitting on the bench, a nonstick gauze tapped to her stitched up throat. 

There’s still a bit of blood that’s seeped through the gauze, and shows itself through the dressing. 

It doesn’t take long for him to push himself away from the door, reaching out for her. 

She’s just strong enough to stand from the bench, letting him take her into his arms. His hand tangles in her hair as he presses her into his body, wanting to shield her from the evils of this world forever. She’s still against him, and he exhales forcefully, then presses a kiss to the top of her head.

And that’s when he feels her shake, then sob, against him.


	11. Follow You Anywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's read, commented, left a kudo... even those who viewed, realized it was Grillows, and bailed! Sorry for any grammar mistakes! And I'm so sad this story finally had to come to a close, but I was running into a dead-end and I REALLY wanted to finish this story. I had intentions of a not so happy ending, to keep things canon with Sara, but I couldn't help myself. And not to fear, Grillows fans, I've got plenty of other one-shots that I plan to write as I rewatch the series! I hope you all enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thanks again for your support!

He has no choice but to go back to work. He’s not entirely excited about the prospect of leaving Catherine alone, but she had slept most of the day and had showed no signs of waking as he was getting ready for work. Leaning against the door, he watches her sleep. Sometime during her slumber, she had pulled her hair out from the ponytail, and now a mess of strawberry blonde hair fans out on the pillow under her head, the sheets have bundled around her waist, one slim foot peeks out from the end of the bed… he grins, pushes himself away from the door and presses a light kiss to the top of her head.

It’s busier than normal, especially with Catherine out, but it’s nothing their team can’t manage. He clocks in for the night and heads off for the breakroom for a much needed cup of coffee. He’s stirring in creamer and sugar when he hears them, with his back turned towards the door. 

“They said he was running through the halls and like… almost pushed poor Ian to the ground.”

“Grissom? I don’t believe you.”

“They’ve got to be together,” the younger lab tech says, filing into the room and coming to a stop when they see him, stirring his coffee. 

He knows that they’re talking about him and Catherine, and simply lifts the cup to his lips, takes a sip, and walks past the two younger lab employees. 

And it happens again when he’s logging evidence from a crime scene he’d just gotten back from. He hears her name come from people he’s never met, but people she’s worked with for years. He knows it’s best to stay quiet, but he doesn’t want her reputation to be tarnished just because he couldn’t control his emotions. 

So he says nothing when Michael comes in early for the day, eyes sweeping over him with a smirk on his face, and says to him, “So… Catherine, huh?”

Not even when Conrad sees him leaving, and manages to stop Gil by calling out his name, right in front of the doors. He thinks for a moment the other CSI wants to talk about something mundane, so when he doesn’t make it far when Conrad utters the words.

“How… disappointing,” he says, disdain in his face.

It was clear that everyone in the lab knew about them, but what else was he expecting when all of his coworkers were investigators? And normally, things like this would bother him to some extent… but it’s no more than a second thought. He was happy, for the first time in what seemed like forever, and he wouldn’t be made to feel as if his relationship with Catherine was some kind of inconvenience for the lab.

So he leaves.

When he makes it back to his townhouse, he steps into a spotless living room, a burning candle on the counter, and Catherine standing in front of the stove. The smell of bacon fills his nose, and his stomach rumbles. She smells as if she’s just gotten out of the shower, and he inhales deeply. 

“Hope you’re hungry,” she says, reaching up to grab plates. She can feel him nod against her. “You’re quiet,” she observes aloud, and then feels him sigh. “What’s wrong?”

He pulls away from her so he can lean against the marble-top island in the middle of his kitchen. One hand comes up to his face, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“It seems that our relationship is the talk of the lab,” he says, deciding to get it out quickly. She takes in his words, nods her head, her tongue sweeping across her bottom lip as she thinks about what to say. 

“Is that so,” she asks finally, to which he nods slowly. For the first time since their acquaintance, he’s having trouble reading her expression. She’s plating their food, setting the plates down onto the counter when she’s done, wiping her hands against the towel that hangs from the oven-door handle. 

And he suddenly feels as if he should apologize. 

“Catherine, I’m sor-”

All he sees is her hair fan out as she turns on her heels, grabbing at the lapels on his jacket, and pulling him down to her level. He’s quick to grab at her waist, breakfast long forgotten, as she presses her lips to his. Her shirt rides up as she leans up on her toes to reach him better, and his fingers are like magnets. He squeezes gently, and their kiss breaks off as she smiles against him.

“I guess this means no more closing the door to your office.”

–

They spend his birthday at home, just the two of them. The days are starting to blend together and before she knows it, she’s itching to get back into the field. Against Gil’s advice, she goes to Tadero anyway, and gets cleared to work. 

“I’m fine. I’ll start out slow, I promise,” she says to him on their next night together, filing into the locker room while the other members of their team arrive. The looks that pass between them doesn’t go unnoticed by Catherine, and she knows what everyone else is thinking. Grissom is oblivious to the exchanges, saying to her without looking at her. 

“I’ll grab you a coffee… go see what our assignment is,” he says before throwing his jacket on and leaving the room. The other investigators, ones that are closing-in on their dayshift, all look at her with knowing, judging eyes. 

The pretty, new CSI sleeping with the older, experienced level III transfer who’s bound for greatness? 

It was the perfect cliché. 

And she hated that they all thought of it that way. As they file out of the locker room one by one, she can’t help but feel betrayed by her emotions. She had never cared about what anyone else thought of her, not a day in her life, but this… she couldn’t shake. Part of her feels guilty, because she knows the thought would run across her mind too if she weren’t in her current position. Sleeping with the boss to get ahead? She’s done a lot worse for a lot less, she thinks. But this wasn’t the case… and she’d never wanted to prove herself before so badly. 

The rest of their night goes by as she’d expect; most people asking about her run-in with the violent crime scene suspect, nearly dying in a dark alley, David apologizing profusely and promising to never leave her side again. But she brushes everything off with a classic Catherine smile, chalks up her encounter to inexperience, and assures everyone that she’s fine… and ready to work. 

Their assignments are given out, and to no one’s surprise, Catherine is paired up with Grissom. He accepts the slip of paper that’s got all of the crime scene details, and looks over his shoulder to make sure she’s following him. 

His professionalism is at an all-time high when they step out into the field, and the car ride to the scene just outside of the Strip is unusually quiet, but before she can open her door, he reaches over the center console. His hand lightly grabs at her forearm, stopping her from getting out of the car. 

“I’ve got your back, you know,” he says softly, just above the noise of ambulance and police sirens.

“Thanks,” she says back, offering him a small smile and feeling him gently squeeze her arm.

–

She’s tired, to say the least, by the time they make it back to the lab; tired from a broken sleep schedule, tired of feeling like she’s walking on eggshells when she’s around her own boyfriend at a crime scene, tired of the way people start whispering to one another when they see her walk the halls by his side. 

Deciding then and there, while the cold leftovers Gil had packed for them currently spun around in the microwave, that she’s going to do something about it… to end the pettiness once and for all. She pages the lot of the lab, and slowly, they start to file into the breakroom with confusion written on their faces. When the majority of them are crowded around the small table, she opens the microwave and takes out her food. 

“Oh good… everyone’s here.” Their heads turn, one by one, when they realize it’s Catherine who’s called the meeting. Picking up a fork, she twirls the leftover spaghetti, takes a bite, and nods. “So…” She wipes away any sauce from her mouth with a paper towel. “It’s come to my attention that there’s a bit of… gossip being passed around.”

Gil, Tadero, and Ecklie are the lasts to file into the room. Grissom staying back a bit, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe.

The silence was starting to ring in his ears.

“So… yes. Grissom and I are dating. In fact, living together now.” 

Someone coughs, another person’s shoes squeak against the floor, and the sound of the printer from the lab next door can be heard. 

“I’ve witnessed most of you ignore this man, brush off his contributions as if you’re too good for the help,” she says, eyes burning into Michael’s. “But I took the time to get to know him, and I’m glad I did. So there you have it.” 

One of the younger lab technicians turns to Grissom, mouth agape. 

The older man can’t seem to hide the smirk growing on his face, not even with the loosely-formed fist pressed to his mouth. 

“Is it true,” someone else asks, to which Grissom tilts his head.

“You heard the woman,” he says, shrugging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note - I can COMPLETELY see Catherine doing this... it's so her. She's always been so blunt and confrontational when it's needed, while Gil hangs out in the background smirking like a nerd. AH I love them.


End file.
